


Sunshine in My Eyes

by monroeslittle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 93,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7549384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monroeslittle/pseuds/monroeslittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. and Mrs. Evans are killed when Lily's only a girl, and she's supposed to go to a home with her sister. Instead, a relative they didn't know they had comes to collect them, and introduces Lily to manners, magic, and a life that's just the slightest bit different from the life she was supposed to live.</p><p>Or, an AU in which Minerva McGonagall raises Lily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> when it doubt, there's always Harry Potter.
> 
> three things:
> 
> 1) this is poorly edited. by the time I finished it, I was sick of it, and couldn't bear to go back and edit it any more than I'd already done mid-process. judge me if you must.
> 
> 2) I meant this to be a one-shot (ha), and split it into chapters only after I'd written it, and realized it was NOT a one-shot. I hope the divisions I chose aren't weird.
> 
> 3) I know there are bits and pieces of information about when, exactly, members of the original Order of the Phoenix got killed. I am blatantly ignoring those bits and pieces.
> 
> 4) I thought of a fourth. Warning: I rated this M primarily for sexy times, but there is violence, a smattering of foul language, and references to rape.

_If I had a day that I could give you,_  
_I'd give to you a day just like today._  
_If I had a song that I could sing for you,_  
_I'd sing a song to make you feel this way._

\---

She was picking at a scab on her knee when the door swung open, and Ms. Howl stepped into the corridor. “Girls!” she called. Petunia moved quickly to her feet, passing Ms. Howl into the office, and Lily hopped after, earning a glare from the matron. “Hurry up.”

She’d been in Mr. Dunning’s office before, and had decided it was the kind of place a dragon in disguise would decide to live. It was dark, and stuffy, and smelled like oldness, or what Lily imagined oldness smelled like. There were gross dead birds stuck on the walls, and too hard, too big chairs that meant to swallow you up when you sat in them.

Today, her eyes skated over the birds, and landed on the woman. She was new. And tall.

“Who are you?” Lily asked, intrigued.

“Hush, child,” Mrs. Howl said, nudging Lily towards a chair. “Mind your manners.”

Lily sat, and continued to stare at the woman. She was very, _very_ tall, and very stern, and her gaze was sharp, traveling from Lily’s messy red curls to her dirty saddle shoes.

She pursed her lips. “Why are your shoelaces tied together?”

Lily shrugged, and swung her tied up feet. “Why is there a bird on your hat? Did you put it there? Is it a real bird?” She tilted her head. “Does it like being on your hat?”

“ _Enough_ ,” said Mr. Dunning.

“I’m going to call it Tom,” said Lily. “The bird.”

Mr. Dunning decided to ignore Lily, and address the woman. “She’s a very impertinent girl, you can see; you’ll find her sister to be more agreeable.” He bestowed an ugly, closed-mouth smile on Petunia, who was sitting as straight as a pin, and as quiet as it, too. Then his gaze moved back to Lily, and she met his gaze, watching his face turn sour.

His nose was too big, and funny-looking. Her mother would tell her that was not a very nice thing to say about a person, but Lily hadn’t said it; she’d only _thought_ it, and, anyway, Mr. Dunning was not a very nice man, talking about Lily like she wasn’t right there.

“Ms. Howl had the girls pack up their things before your arrival,” he continued, turning his attention to the woman. “There isn’t much; most of the family’s possessions were sold at auction. But you’ll find they have the clothes they need, and a handful of toys and books and trinkets. Pictures, and keepsakes, and the like to remember their parents by.”

“We’re going to live with you?” asked Petunia, glancing at the woman.

Lily was surprised. “We are?”

“Yes,” said the woman.

“Why?” Lily asked.

“We are related. Distantly. Your grandmother was my aunt, which makes you my cousin once removed.” She paused. “Essentially, I’m your aunt. You may call me aunt.”

Lily nodded. “You may call me Lily.”

That was apparently the end of the conversation. “Now,” said Mr. Dunning, and he began to rifle through a stack of papers. “There is the matter of—” He paused, and frowned.

“Girls, go into the corridor to wait,” Ms. Howl said, moving to shoo them out.

In the corridor, they were by themselves again.

“She seems rather scary, doesn’t she?” Petunia said, worried.

Lily shrugged. “I’d rather live with her than stay here at the home with Mr. Dunning, and Ms. Howl, and that stupid girl who told me my hair looks like smelly carrot vomit.”

“Do you think she’s really related to us?”

“I guess,” Lily said. Her parents had never, ever said anything about a tall, stern woman who was their special removed cousin, or something. Now they couldn’t ask. It made sadness swell in Lily’s gut to think about her parents, so she tried not to think about them. If she didn’t think about them, she couldn’t miss them. “Want to hear a story?” she said.

“No.”

“There was a bird named Tom,” Lily began. “He had beautiful purple feathers, and—”

The door opened again, and Ms. Howl was ushering the girls to their feet, telling them to take a hold of their bags because it was time to go. “You don’t want to make Ms. McGonagall wait,” she said, and that must be their new stern aunt. Her name was funny. Lily stood, and grabbed her purse, and the handle of her suitcase, dragging it forward.

Her auntie came out of the office, and took the suitcase from Lily.

In reply, Lily took her hand.

It seemed to startle her auntie, who glanced at their joined hands for a moment, blinked, and looked at Lily. Lily smiled, and swung their hands, humming a made up song.

“Well, this is goodbye,” Ms. Howl said. “Be good girls for Ms. McGonagall, and mind your manners.” She smiled, kissed the top of Petunia’s head, and that was that.

They left the home, heading into the street.

“Do you live very far, Aunt?” Petunia asked, clutching her dolly to her chest.

“I do,” Auntie said. “We’ll have to take a train.” She paused. “Have you been on a train?”

“No, ma’am,” Petunia said.

Auntie sighed, and jerked to a stop. “My dear, you are going to need to untie that knot in your laces, and tie your shoes _properly_. We aren’t going to hop all the way to the train.”

“ _You_ don’t have to hop,” Lily replied.

Auntie was silent.

Lily sighed, and bent to untie the knots in her laces. It was hard, but she got it eventually, and her auntie waited silently, and gave Lily a curt, approving nod when it was done.

It was a hike to the train, then they were on the train for ages.

Lily made Petunia read to her. She liked when Petunia read to her. _The Tale of Peter Rabbit_ was their favorite.

By the time they reached their stop, it was dark out. Lily followed her auntie blindly from the station, and down the street, dragging her feet, until at last there was a cottage in sight. “Is this your house?” she asked. It was small. She’d expected her to live in a castle.

“It belongs to the family,” Auntie answered.

Inside, the house was tidy, and sparse. Houses were supposed to have a lot of clutter. This didn’t. But there were rosebuds in the wallpaper, and lots of blankets on the furniture.

“You’ll have to share a room,” Auntie said, “unless one of you wants the attic.”

She led them up the stairs, pointing to her bedroom, and opening the door to their room. It was small, and white, and had two beds with white frames, and white cotton sheets.

“Can I see the attic?” Lily asked.

She loved the attic. It had a pointy spiral ceiling, and a small round window, and smelled like the deep, dark woods in a fairytale. She turned in a circle. There were stacks of trunks in the corner that looked shadowy in the light cast from the bare hanging bulbs.

Lily put her hands on her hips. “I’ll take it!”

“Very well,” Auntie said, amused. “Go wash up, and I’ll move your bed.”

Lily ended up having to wash up twice, because it turned out there was a very wrong way to wash up, and it was not using soap, and sitting at the table with dirt under your nails.

Dinner was the biggest, best meal she’d eaten in _forever_. The food at the home was gross.

“Did you cook all of this?” Lily asked.

“No.”

“Who cooked it?”

“I asked a House Elf from the school where I teach to do it.”

“Really?” Lily was thrilled. She’d assumed her auntie didn’t believe in things like elves. She wanted to ask about House Elves. What did they look like? Were they the size of a thimble? She liked to think they were the size of a thimble. But she didn’t get the chance.

“Did you know our parents?” Petunia asked timidly.

It took Auntie a moment to answer. “Unfortunately, I didn’t. My father had three younger sisters. Two of them never had children, and the third was— _different_ from the rest of the family, which lead to her estrangement. That means she didn’t keep in touch with my father. I knew she had a son, your father, and that he had a wife, and two young daughters. I never got the chance to meet him, though. I would have liked to meet him.”

Petunia nodded.

“I know you must miss your parents very much,” Auntie said, softer. “I miss mine.”

“How old are you?” Lily asked.

“You are never too old to miss your parents.”

“I’m five.”

Auntie wiped her mouth on her napkin. “You are very bold for a five year old, my dear.”

“You’re very tall. Do you like being tall? I hope I get to be tall.”

They had to wash the dishes after dinner, then change into pajamas, and brush their teeth. Auntie needed to inspect their teeth, but Lily was used to that, and turned to her auntie immediately, sporting a big, toothy smile. Mummy had wanted to inspect their teeth, too.

“Fine,” Auntie said, nodding in approval. “Now it’s time for bed. Go on.”

In the attic, Lily fetched her blanket from her suitcase, climbed into her new white bed, and wiggled until she was lying just right. “Goodnight, blanket,” she said softly. “Goodnight, Mummy. Goodnight, Daddy. Goodnight, Jesus.” She had to tuck the thick white bedspread under her sides by herself, because there wasn’t anybody to do it for her.

“Tucked in?” Auntie said, appearing in the doorway.

“No,” Lily said. “You have to do it.”

“Please.”

“Please.”

She tucked Lily in, and she had to be told how to do it right, but she managed.

“Goodnight, Auntie,” Lily said.

“Goodnight, Lily,” Auntie said, and she turned off the lights.

Lily listened to the sound of her auntie’s footsteps fade away, and stared at the ceiling of the attic. It was her attic. Her bedroom, and this was her house. She pushed her blankets off, climbed out of bed, and left the attic, tiptoeing on the stairs, and into Petunia’s room.

It was dark, but that was alright when Petunia was there.

“Go away, Lily,” Petunia said.

Lily pulled at the sheets, and climbed into bed with her sister. “Auntie tucked me in.”

“Then why did you get out?”

“I like her.”

“You need to behave, or she’ll give us back.”

“She won’t give us back. We’re related. She’s _got_ to keep us.” She hugged her blanket to her chest. Mr. Dunning was a mean old man, and he’d told them they didn’t have any family left, but he’d been wrong. They had her. “She believes in elves,” Lily whispered.

“She was making that up,” Petunia replied. “Elves aren’t real."

“Daddy said they were.”

Petunia was quiet, only to lean in, and press a kiss to Lily’s forehead. “Go to sleep, Lily.”

\---

Auntie woke them at 6:30 in the morning, which they learned was wake up time. You had to make your bed, wash up, and dress yourself in half an hour. Breakfast was at seven.

If you were late to breakfast, you got a stinkeye.

They learned to garden after breakfast. They had to put on muddy gardening aprons, and gloves, and big floppy hats. They learned which of the plants were weeds, and how to pull up the weeds. Also, Lily learned you were not allowed to throw the weeds at Petunia.

She learned a lot from her auntie that day, in fact, and in the weeks that followed.

She learned to cross her ankles at dinner if she wanted dessert, and that slurping her soup was rude, and that unless you were raised in a stable, you were not to put your elbows on the table. Also, she learned that a stable was where horses lived, and, no, she could not choose to live in a stable with the horses. She learned that Santa was not real, but you could fly on a broomstick, and take a special magic potion when your tummy hurt, and there was a school for people with magic. She learned that she was a witch, which meant she was going to go to that school, and wear fluffy robes, and wave a wand like Cinderella’s fairy godmother. She learned that Cinderella was a fairytale, and made up.

On a hot, muddy day in July, Auntie told them that they were going for tea at her friend’s house, and they were going by Floo. That meant they were going by magic green fire. Her friend only lived a couple of kilometers away, and there was a path through the woods to get there, but this was faster. They stepped into a real, warm bright green _fire_.

It was _spectacular_!

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Petunia said, stepping into a large marble hall.

Lily gaped. “We’re having tea in a _castle_?” The floor was marble, and there were huge marble pillars, and huge marble stairs, and the walls were hung with portraits in gold, gilded frames, and they _moved_. One of them nodded her head at Lily, and Lily waved.

“Minerva!” greeted a woman, sweeping into the room.

Lily was surprised at Auntie’s smile. “Euphemia,” she said, warm. “Girls, this is Mrs. Potter. She is a dear friend of mine, and very gracious to invite us to her home for tea.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Potter,” Petunia said, curtseying.

“This is Petunia,” Auntie introduced.

“I like your castle,” Lily said.

“And her younger, precocious sister, Lily,” Auntie said.

Lily swung Auntie’s hand, and beamed.

“Thank you, Lily, and it is a pleasure to meet you, too, Petunia.” She smiled. “Your aunt has told me a lot about the two of you. I am so happy that you could come for tea.”

She led them to the back of the house, and into a small drawing room.

The wallpaper had lions on it, and there were lions on top of the mantle, standing on their hind legs, and roaring. Lily flounced onto a sofa, bouncing a bit, then crossed her ankles under Auntie’s sharp, reminding gaze. Mrs. Potter went to one of the wide, open windows. “James!” she called. “Our guests are here! Come in, and clean up, and join us!”

“Who’s James?” Lily asked. She hoped he was an elf.

“My son,” Mrs. Potter replied, looking at Lily. “I believe he’s your age.”

“I’m five,” Lily said.

“Terrific!” Mrs. Potter said, bright. “He is, too!”

Lily liked her.

“Here I am!” James exclaimed.

He was a tiny little boy. His hair was messy, sticking up in the back, and his glasses were crooked, and although his hands were clean, and wet from washing, his clothes were ruffled, and there was mud on the knees of his trousers, and a smudge of dirt on his chin.

Lily liked him, too.

“Have a seat, precious,” said Mrs. Potter. “Professor McGonagall brought her nieces to tea. This is Petunia, and Lily.” She nodded at each of them. “This is my son, James.”

James grabbed a biscuit from the table. “Hi, Petunia,” he said. “Hi, Lily. Hi, Professor.”

“Hello, James,” Auntie said, familiar.

Tea was boring. The biscuits were chocolate, but James ate so many of them that they were gone in a blink, and Lily was left to sit with crossed ankles, and nothing to do.

“Mummy, may I be excused?” James asked, interrupting his mother.

She expected that he was going to get a glare for his trouble, but his mother only smiled. “I think you have sat for long enough,” she replied. “Go on. Take the girls with you.”

Lily gasped, sitting up. “May I be excused, too?”

“Yes, my dear,” Auntie said.

“I’ll stay,” Petunia said, haughty.

Lily ignored her sister, and jumped to her feet, taking the hand that James held out. They hurried from the room. “I can’t believe they really let us leave!” she exclaimed. Auntie had never, ever allowed her to abandon teatime before, forcing Lily to sit and sit and sit.

“Mummy never makes me stay for long.” James grinned. “She knows it’s boring.”

He took her up the huge marble stairs to his bedroom, and showed her how he’d gotten a bunch of his frog trading cards signed by the people on the cards. Then when she told him she’d never heard of frog trading cards, he gave her one of his that he was saving for later, and it turned out the frog was _chocolate._ “You can keep the card, too, if you want,” he said, and he grabbed her hand, taking her down the stairs, and out into the backyard.

“You’ve got a _lake_ in your backyard?” Lily asked, stunned.

“You want to play Quidditch?” he replied. “My daddy got me my own broomstick, and a _real_ Quaffle. It’s the same brand that they use in the World Cup! We’ll have to use something else for the Bludgers, though. Mummy won’t let me use real Bludgers when I play. Or a real Snitch, because she says I’ll lose it. But we can use a galleon for that!”

“What’s Quidditch?”

His eyes went as big as saucers. “Only the greatest, most bestest sport in the WORLD!”

He taught her to play, explaining the players, and the points, and the penalties, and she didn’t really listen to _everything_ , but it turned out that he was right. It _was_ the greatest, most bestest sport in the world. Her auntie had told Lily that you could ride on a broomstick, but she hadn’t had a broomstick for Lily to use. James had a broomstick, and it was for kids, but it was still really, super brilliant; it _flew_ , and he let her fly on it.

They finished their game, and went to hunt for a turtle at the lake.

“How come you’d never heard of Quidditch?” he asked.

She shrugged.

“What house do you want to be in at Hogwarts?”

“That’s the school where my auntie is a teacher, isn’t it?” she said. “For magic?”

He nodded.

“Which house do you want to be in?” she asked.

“Gryffindor!”

“Me, too,” she decided.

He grinned, then seemed to deflate a little. “I hope you can come over to play again,” he said. He stabbed at the ground with his stick. They were digging a smaller, turtle-sized lake for the turtle they’d hunted down. “I’ve never had anybody to play with me before."

“I used to play with the kids in my neighborhood all the time,” she said. “We don’t live there anymore, though. Now we live with my auntie. I like it, but I miss my friends.”

“Do you want to be friends with me?” he asked, nervous.

“Yes.”

He grinned.

They used their hands to scoop the water from the lake into their new, turtle lake.

“Let’s fly on the broomstick again!” Lily suggested.

“It’s only a toy,” he said. He leaned in, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “But I know where my father keeps a _real_ broomstick. We just have to pick the lock on the shed."

“Do you know how to pick a lock?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “But I have an idea!”

His idea was to use a stick to pry off the already loose, already half-open window in the side of the shed, and climb in that way. They tried it, and it worked. He fell when he climbed in first, and got a cut, but he said it didn’t hurt, and they found the broomstick!

Lily was amazed, brushing her fingers lightly over the smooth, polished wood.

“Want to fly it?” James asked.

“Do you know how?”

“Sure. It’s magic. We don’t need a wand or anything. I’ve flown it before loads of times.”

They climbed onto it together; James sat in the front to steer, and Lily scooted up to look over his shoulder. He pushed off the ground only the slightest, littlest bit with his feet, and the broom went up just the slightest, littlest bit, too. Lily grinned. “Can it go higher?”

“Hold on tight,” he said, and he pushed off _for real_.

The broom zoomed into the air so quickly that Lily screamed, clutching at James, and it was spectacular for a second, then they were careening into a tree, and it was _painful_.

It happened so quickly that Lily didn’t even really remember the crash.

The both of them were crying when Mrs. Potter, Auntie, and Petunia came running from the house to see what had happened. James had sprained his wrist, and Lily had dislocated her shoulder, and Auntie yelled that they were _lucky_ that it wasn’t much, much worse. Mrs. Potter was yelling, too, and James was trying to say that he’d been flying it for a second, but _you could have gotten Lily killed! You could have gotten yourself killed_! It went on like that all the way into the house, and while they fixed up his wrist with magic, and her shoulder. It was actually the very first time that Lily had seen somebody use a wand, and she was stunned when her shoulder was better with the wave of a hand.

“Lily can still come over to play again, can’t she?” James asked. “Please, Mother? _Please_?”

“Not until you’ve learned your lesson,” Mrs. Potter said.

“How long will that take? If I learn my lesson tonight, can she come over tomorrow?”

“You are not the only one who needs to learn a lesson,” Auntie said, giving Lily a long, pointed glare. “I believe it is time for us to go, girls. What do we say to Mrs. Potter?”

“Thank you very much for having us for tea, Mrs. Potter,” said Petunia.

“The tea was gross, but I liked the biscuits,” said Lily.

Auntie closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply while Mrs. Potter seemed to choke, then pressed her lips together when they trembled, and threatened to turn up. “I’m glad you enjoyed the biscuits, Lily. It was lovely to have your company for tea. You, too, Petunia.”

That night, Lily learned that you couldn’t have dessert if you broke into a shed, and stole a broomstick that was too big for you, and tried to fly it, and dislocated your shoulder.

“We didn’t _mean_ to do any of that!”

“You did not _mean_ to break into that shed, and use a broom that did not belong to you?”

Lily was quiet.

“My dear, there are rules for a reason. They are meant to _protect_ you, and others. I know that today you simply hurt your shoulder, and it was easily fixed. But you could have broken your neck, and it would not have been quite so easily fixed. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

It turned out that she couldn’t have dessert for a week.

But when the week was up, Auntie declared that she believed Lily had learned her lesson, and James must have learned his lesson, too, because Mrs. Potter invited them for tea.

\---

Auntie put them on a schedule for they rest of the summer. Auntie loved schedules. There was breakfast at seven, then it was time for gardening. They cleaned up after gardening, and it was time for learning their letters, and counting, and the names of every single country in Europe. Then it was time for a brisk morning walk, and for lunch, and for a puzzle after lunch. There was time for playing, and drawing, and for taking tea, of course.

Naturally, Petunia excelled at every small task, thriving on a schedule.

Lily found a schedule to be more of a challenge.

Gardening was interesting if you made the flowers sprout suddenly by magic, which she was thrilled to discover she could do, only to be told that she could _not_. She got bored with letters, and counting, and couldn’t ever remember the countries. She made the walk into a race that turned Petunia purple with rage, and it turned out puzzles were _boring_. She collapsed in the middle of the yard during play, saying that she was tired of playing.

“My dear,” Auntie said, “you are the most dramatic, ridiculous, and _exhausting_ child.”

“Can we go to tea with Mrs. Potter?” Lily asked.

If they did, she’d be able to play with James for the rest of the afternoon.

“I’m afraid that Mrs. Potter is feeling under the weather, so we are having tea without her this afternoon,” Auntie said. “Do not pout at me like that, Lily. You are not a baby.”

Lily sat up on her elbows. “Could Jamie come to play at our house?”

“Can you not play with your sister?”

“Petunia is _boring_.”

“Well, she is your companion for the afternoon.”

They weren’t able to have tea with Mrs. Potter for the rest of the month, in fact, because she was sick for a while, and their family went to France for a vacation after that.

But as soon as they returned, Lily learned the best news ever.

Auntie had to return to Hogwarts to teach in September, and although she would be home in the evenings, she could no longer look after the girls during the day. “Besides, it is time for us to focus more seriously on your education,” she explained, and looked at Lily.

“Where are we going to go to school?” Petunia asked.

“You are not going to go school in the way that you are used to,” Auntie replied. “You are going to be taught by Mrs. Potter.” Lily gasped, and Auntie smiled. “She taught at a university for years, and is among the finest of teachers. She will be teaching James alongside you, of course. I trust her to take excellent care of your education, and of you.”

Lily went to her very first day of school on September 1st, and it was the _best_.

They sang a lot of songs to practice their words, and counted with biscuits, and she got to play in the yard with James after lunch for hours while Mrs. Potter taught Petunia to cross-stitch. Afterward, they learned the keys on the piano, and read a bunch of stories.

She learned a lot about magic from Mrs. Potter, too.

She learned how wands work, and that potion is fancy magic stew. She learned that there wasn’t royalty among elves, but she liked the House Elf who worked for Mrs. Potter.

She learned there were dragons, and werewolves, and vampires, too.

She learned that a person without magic is called a Muggle, which meant Petunia was a Muggle. Of course, Mrs. Potter explained that it didn’t really matter if you were magical, or a Muggle. It was like the color of your eyes, or your hair. “Some people have black hair,” she explained, “and some people have red hair. Some people have magic, and some people don’t.” It made a lot of sense. Still. Lily was glad that she got to have it. Magic.

Summer became winter, which melted into spring, and warmed into summer.

They got a break from school, and it was back to a schedule with Auntie. She introduced them to a bunch of her friends. They met Professor Sprout, and Professor Sinistra. They learned to swim, and Petunia gave Lily a haircut that made Auntie yell at them for _hours._

But her very favorite part of summer remained teatime with Mrs. Potter, and James.

She liked to make special, magic potions with her auntie, and Petunia was fun when they were playing make believe, or dancing to records. James was her favorite, though. He listened to her stories, and he played every game that she invented, and ate a worm when she dared him to, and when she told him that she was afraid of thunderstorms, he told her that he was afraid of vampires, and that was okay; they’d still get to be in Gryffindor. “My dad says that you’re in Gryffindor if you think some things are more _important_ than fear. Like if a vampire was going to get you, I’d fight it to save you ‘cause you’re my friend.” She promised that she would save him, too, from a vampire, _and_ a thunderstorm.

\---

Lily got her first fancy robes when she was eight, and needed a set for a wedding. Petunia got robes, too, of course, and picked awful, candy pink robes with a lacy-edged collar, and pearl-lined cuffs. Lily chose green robes that shimmered like glass when she twirled.

“Those are robes for _evening_ ,” Petunia said. “We’re going to a summer _day_ wedding.”

Lily crossed her eyes in reply, because it made Petunia furious.

James was at the wedding, too, with his parents, and they got to sit at the same reception table. She was glad. There weren’t any other kids their age at the wedding. He was dressed in pain black robes, and his hair was combed. Sort of. They ate together, and danced together, and ran away together to hide from the witches who called them darling.

“I like your robes,” James said. “You look like a sorceress from a story.”

Lily twirled. “I am. I’m the Sorceress of the North, and I have a fleet of loyal Hebridean Blacks at my command!” She pointed her finger, and narrowed her eyes. “Fear me."

“Never!” he said. “But I _will_ challenge you to a duel.”

They dueled, and Lily won after she tackled him, pinned him with her knees on his chest, and shoved mud in his hair. She always won fights because he was littler than she was.

He was faster, though. To her frustration, he always won when they raced.

“This is fun,” she announced, shifting off James, and flopping onto the ground to lie beside him, and stare up at red sunset sky. It was pretty. “I like weddings.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re here,” he said. “It would’ve been awful if you hadn’t been here. It usually is, ‘cause weddings are _boring_. Let’s make our wedding fun. We’ll have the ceremony on broomsticks. And the cake will be _chocolate_ instead of lemon raspberry!”

She laughed. “I don’t want to get _married_.”

“You have to!"

“No, I don’t. My auntie isn’t married, and neither are loads of people.”

“Come on,” James said. “If we were married, we could live together. Think how cool it’d be! We could fly on brooms in the house! And we could eat with our mouths open, and we’d never eat greens, or any gross stuff, and we’d never have to clean up either; we would just get a dog, and have him lick up all the crumbs. We could eat in our beds, too!”

“Hmm,” Lily said. “Petunia isn’t allowed in our house.”

“Sure.”

“And when we have people for tea, they aren’t allowed to sit up straight!”

He grinned. “They _have_ to slump.”

“We’ll need lots of room for my Hebridean Blacks, too.”

“Obviously.”

“Okay,” Lily agreed. “I’ll marry you. Let’s get married in the snow! _That_ would be fun.”

They planned it for the rest of the night, and when the wedding was over, Lily refused to take off her robes. She went to bed with them on, and Auntie tucked her in anyway.

\---

She went to Hogwarts a handful of times before she was eleven. She needed a babysitter, and Professor Sprout was available, or Auntie needed to do a bit of work over the summer, and she took Lily with her if Lily promised to read quietly in her auntie’s office.

She thought she knew the castle, and liked it.

But that was before she glided silently across the lake, and saw it lit up. That was before the Sorting Hat brushed her curls, and shouted immediately “Gryffindor!” That was before she slept in her four-poster bed, and went to classes, and got lost after a staircase suddenly moved. That was before she ate a feast in the Great Hall, or swam in the lake.

She _loved_ it.

Hogwarts was the most fun, most fantastical place in the world, and it was her _home_.

She was good at Potions, and Herbology, but tended to nod off in History of Magic, and was _dreadful_ at Transfiguration. That was awkward, but her auntie was unsurprised.

Apparently, she’d “suspected” Lily would not have an aptitude for Transfiguration.

“It involves maths,” she said.

“Maths is the _worst_.”

“My point,” Auntie replied. “Now eat your biscuits.”

She went to her auntie’s office for half an hour every Sunday afternoon, and had tea with biscuits, and told her auntie all of the things that she would’ve put in a letter, about her classes, and her friends, and her adventures after the staircase moved, and sent her in the totally wrong direction, and she found a room that _just_ had a map of Hogwarts in it, and was completely empty otherwise. It was nice, getting to have her aunt at school with her.

Of course, she’d found it was easier to call her auntie “Professor” when she was in class, or with her friends.

She made friends quickly with the girls in her dormitory. There was Emmeline Vance, who was shy, and quiet, and constantly in the middle of a book. She knew _everything_ about every magical beast, and dragons were her favorite. There was Marlene McKinnon, who was not shy, and was not quiet, and claimed that reading was the worst. She liked to crack bad jokes, and to talk about horses, and to wrap up a bit of her breakfast in a napkin, stowing in her robes to have for a snack in class. And there was Deirdre Greenwood, who had a lot of opinions, and always took charge. She taught Lily a spell for braiding your hair, and a spell for making your bed. Potions was her favorite, too.

She didn’t really spend a lot of time with James. He was still her friend, of course, but she’d made new friends, and he had, too. It wasn’t them against the world now.

For her birthday, he got her a self-inking quill with ink that changed color based on her mood, and a notebook to match. “For your stories!” He gave her a cupcake, too.

“Did you make this?” she asked, delighted.

“Nope.” He grinned. “I nicked it from the kitchen. Fancy a visit?”

He showed her where the entrance was, and how to tickle the pear to get in, introduced her to a dozen eager, earnest House Elves, and they ended up eating _a lot_ of cupcakes.

She loved everything about Hogwarts, and never, ever wanted to leave.

She made her friends pinky swear to write when the boarded the train to go home.

Then it was back to Auntie’s old, unchanging schedule, and to tea at Mrs. Potter’s house, to swimming in the lake behind their house with James, and competing to see whose splash was bigger when they cannonballed into the water, racing the length of the lake when they needed to break a tie, and practicing their handstands, pushing each other over.

It was actually a really good summer.

Petunia was back, of course, from the snooty old school that Auntie had found for her in Switzerland, but she was determined to ignore Lily, and Lily was happy to be ignored.

After all, she had much better things to do.

They played a lot of Quidditch on broomsticks from Mr. Potter. These weren’t toys; these were real, actual broomsticks, and a brand new model, and, of course, he bought a pair of them so that they could play together. After all, James needed to practice if he wanted to be a chaser for Gryffindor. It turned out Lily was dreadful on a broom, but she didn’t really need to be flying to defend a hoop, and that was what how they did it: James flew, and tried to throw the Quaffle through a low hanging hoop that Lily guarded.

He was unfairly good, and won far too much for her tastes.

Summer grew muggy, and cooled off suddenly.

Mrs. Potter took the both of them shopping for the next year’s books, and to the station on September 1st. They crossed onto Platform 9 ¾, and Lily screamed, and ran to greet Marlene, and Emmeline, and Deirdre, and she assumed James went off to find his friends.

\---

It was in their second year that Lily learned her beloved, magical world wasn’t really as magical as she’d thought.

She’d never, ever been teased before, and she wasn’t exactly teased at Hogwarts.

There was the time when she had attempted to remove her acne with magic, and it had drained her face of color, leaving it a shade of chalk for a week while the spell wore off. She was teased a bit for that. But when Tim Fraser had made stupid, childish ghost moans at her, James had cast a spell on Tim that turned his face the color of boogers. Tim had shut up after that. Her color had came back, and the school had quickly forgot the whole thing.

James wasn’t there when Lily got called a Mudblood, though.

Lily had no idea what it meant, but he spat it at her, and it made her flush.

She asked Emmeline about it. “What’s Mudblood mean?” She knew as soon as she said the word that Emmeline knew what it meant, and that it was as bad as she’d thought.

“It’s a really gross word,” Emmeline said, hesitant.

“What’s it mean?”

“It’s a name for people whose parents are Muggles. It’s supposed to be that their blood isn’t pure, you know, because there’s—there’s Muggle blood in it. Dirty blood.”

Lily was quiet. “Rosier said it. To me.”

“He’s a jerk,” Emmeline said. “You should tell a professor. He should get in trouble.”

She went to talk to her auntie. It was a Tuesday, and her aunt was in her office, grading, and didn’t even look up when Lily came in. “May I help you?” she asked, distracted.

“I got called a Mudblood.”

Her aunt’s hand went still. She looked up to meet Lily’s gaze, and set her quill down. “Have a seat, dear.” She nodded. “I assume by your face you know what it means.”

“Emmeline told me when I forced her to,” Lily said.

“It is a cruel and ignorant word, and it is used by cruel and ignorant people.” She sighed. “I have shielded you, Lily. You grew up with me, and the professors at Hogwarts, with Euphemia. We were your only exposure to magic, and to this world, and we showed you the world as we wish it were. But there are a lot of people in our world who are prejudiced, who are cruel, and ignorant, and believe that Muggles are inferior to Wizards, and that magical bloodlines ought to be kept separate from Muggles. It is hogwash, of course. Muggles are not _inferior_ , and you are not less of a witch because your parents were Muggles. Unfortunately, these beliefs run very deep among the worst of our world.”

“Is it rare, being like me?” Lily asked. “Having Muggles for parents?”

“It’s not.” Auntie smiled, only for it turn slightly grim. “In fact, I’d say it’s far rarer to be what’s called Pureblood, or not to have any Muggle ancestors, and it’s only going to become more so. The pools of eligible, _pure_ partners for the prejudiced are dwindling.”

Lily nodded, and it was quiet.

“Who said it to you?”

“Rosier,” Lily said. “But don’t take any points, or anything! If you do, the whole entire school will know what he said.” She crossed her arms. “I just want to forget about it.”

“I see.”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“It is your choice.” She paused. “But it will not ever truly go away. They will not let it. There is something else that you ought to know, Lily. You parents—I know you were told at the home that they were killed in a bombing in London, and that _is_ the story that Muggles were lead to believe. But I am afraid it is not the whole truth. It was not a terrorist’s bomb that killed a dozen innocent Muggles that night. It was an attack by a group of Wizards. They were terrorists; that part of the story is unchanged. They were supporters of a cruel and persuasive Wizard, a blood supremacist known as Voldemort.”

Lily stared. “My parents were killed by Wizards?”

“Followers of Voldemort,” Auntie said. “Yes. The worst of our world.”

Lily was silent.

“These followers were caught, and put on trail,” Auntie continued. “They were found to be guilty, and imprisoned for their crime. But I am afraid there are others like them.”

“Followers of Voldemort,” Lily repeated.

Auntie nodded.

“What about him? _Voldemort_?”

“He is cunning,” Auntie replied. “He has managed to evade the Ministry for years.” She reached for Lily’s hand. “Listen to me closely. You are a woman, and a Muggle-born, and our society is not fair to either. Until that changes, it will be an uphill battle for you. But I believe you are made of much stronger stuff than wizards like Voldemort like to think. You are not a ship to be battered in a storm, or a sailor at dock, watching it rage, and waiting for it to pass.” Her eyes were bright, blazing. “You _are_ the storm, my dear.”

The words followed Lily from the office, and to her dorm.

She got up early in the morning, heading to the library. She needed to do a bit of reading.

That afternoon, she used the hex on Rosier in the corridor before Charms. His skin broke out in boils, and when he opened his mouth, and made to draw his wand in confused, boil-infested anger, she countered, and sealed his lips closed with a jinx, shutting him up.

“Nobody wants to hear what you have to say,” she told him.

She got detention every single weeknight for a month, and a talking to. It was worth it.

The year drew quickly to a close after that.

Lily went to Barcelona with Marlene’s family for the month of June, and made her aunt play a lot of chess with her in July, trying to learn to play because it was a _thing_ at Hogwarts. James was too good, and a really sore winner; she refused to play with him. In August, she twiddled her thumbs, and waited for the hot, muggy summer to be over. She found an old cigar box of her mother's things, including her gold engagement ring with a small, twinkling diamond. It fit loosely on Lily's finger, and she took to wearing it.

Finally, she returned to Hogwarts for their third year.

On the very first day of Potions, they were assigned a partner for the year, and Lily got a pale, gangly Slytherin whose name she didn’t even know. It turned out to be Severus Snape, and Severus Snape turned out to be a jerk. She’d heard James talk about a Slytherin named Snape before, and it was never very complimentary. Now she knew why. Snape talked to Lily in curt, one word syllables, and tried to elbow her out of helping with any of their assignments, bossing her around when she insisted on helping.

“Is there a reason you’re an arse to me?” she demanded.

He was silent.

“I’m just as good as you at Potions.”

Sirius chose that moment to saunter by their table, carrying the next ingredient from Slughorn. “You’re stirring that backwards, Snivellus. Don’t know left from right?”

“Bugger off, Black,” Lily said, making a face.

It was quiet.

“I thought you were friends with Black,” Snape said. It was a question.

“Not really.”

“I stir it to the left for a reason.”

“I know.” She put her chin in her hand. “I’ve been your partner for a month. I’ve figured out that you know what you’re doing. It’d be nice if you’d figured out that I know what I’m doing, too.”

He stared at the cauldron. “I don’t work well with a partner.”

“I figured that out, too.”

They didn’t really talk after that, but he got nicer.

In the weeks that follow, he explained to Lily why he was changing the directions in the way that he was changing them, and it was actually kind of fascinating. She started to make suggestions for changes, too, and they began to experiment, and it was kind of fun.

On her birthday, Severus gave her a vial with a bubbly green potion in it. “Here.”

She blinked.

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?” he said, irritated.

“Is this a present?” She started to smile. “You got me a present?”

He flushed. “It’s nothing,” he dismissed, glaring at his cauldron. “I was experimenting, and I thought you’d be interested in seeing the result. I didn’t make it _for_ you.”

She suppressed her smile. “What’s it for?”

“Put a bit of dirt on the windowsill of your dorm,” he said, “and pour that potion on it.”

She did it as soon as Potions was over, and watched a tiny sprout emerge from the dirt, budding into a pretty yellow flower right before her eyes. It was amazing, and sweet.

He pretended to be a rude, disinterested git, but Severus was sweet.

She put the flower in her hair, and went to find him, to thank him. She didn’t even know when his birthday was. If it hadn’t happened yet, she’d have to get him a gift from the Potions supply store in Hogsmeade this weekend. They had all sorts of things he’d like.

She caught up to him on the stairs, calling his name. “I loved it!” she told him, and before he had a chance to reply, she hugged him. He stiffened at first, but he hugged her back.

She beamed at him when they drew apart.

“Going to Charms?” she asked.

He nodded, and they started up the rest of the stairs. “The key is to add a drop of—”

“Oi!” called James, and Lily heard Peter’s laugh. “Snivellus!”

Severus didn’t have a second to react before the spell hit him in the chest.

It seemed to ripple over his face, and he blinked, but didn’t actually appear to be injured. He whipped out his wand, and pointed it at James, opening his mouth, and clucking.

His eyes went wide, and he clucked like a chicken. Again.

“What’s the matter?” James taunted. “You’re not too chicken to fight back, are you?”

Severus looked furious, but the only noise that emerged when he opened his mouth was the cluck of an angry, desperate chicken, and passing students paused, and laughed.

“Chicken got your tongue, Snape?” called a Ravenclaw.

Severus ran, covering his mouth with his hand.

Lily was horrified, and she turned on James. “What did you do that for?”

“What?” He laughed.

“You _attacked_ him!” she said.

His amusement faded slightly. “He was bothering you.”

“Bothering me?” She gaped. “What are you _talking_ about? He wasn’t _bothering_ me. He gave me a birthday present in Potions this morning, and I was _thanking him_ for it!”

“It’s your birthday?” James frowned. “How’d _he_ know that?”

“Marlene, Emmeline, and Deirdre sang to me at breakfast,” she snapped.

“I thought he was messing with you.”

She shook her head. “Don’t.” He didn’t get to put it on her, and make himself into a hero. “This wasn’t about me. _You_ wanted to attack him, so you did, because you’re a jerk.”

“ _I’m_ a jerk?” he repeated. “Have you actually _met_ Snivellus?”

Lily scoffed.

“Fine,” James said, sour. “You’re right. He’s a greasy little Slytherin, but _I’m_ the jerk.” He turned on his heel, ignoring her stare on his back while he stalked off.

Severus wouldn’t talk to her for the rest of the year.

For the very first time, she was really, really glad for summer to arrive.

Lily decided to start a garden for herself that year, making her auntie take her into Diagon Alley to buy the seeds that Lily wanted. She wanted some magical plants, and some Muggle plants, too, so after Diagon Alley they had to go to a nursery in Muggle London.

Lily was plotting her garden on paper when Auntie asked if she was ready to go.

“Go?” Lily said. “We just got back.”

“It is time for tea,” Auntie replied. “Mrs. Potter is having us."

“Do I have to go?”

“Do you not want to go?”

“No.”

There was a beat of silence. “Mind the house,” Auntie said, and left.

She did stop being mad at him eventually, of course, but. They were long past the days when they did everything together, when they were pinky sworn, very best friends.

That was okay, though. She had Marlene, and Emmeline.

It stormed for the month of August, and was pouring out when they returned to Hogwarts for their fourth year, which turned out to be the year when everyone began to date.

Mostly, it meant there was a lot of hand holding in the corridors, and messy snogging in the dormitories, and people were always in fights over the demise of their most recent short-lived romance. Lily thought her auntie was going to turn purple with fury when Mary _refused_ to work on an assignment with Benjy because they’d broken up yesterday.

Lily volunteered to work with him, and learned that Mary was better off. Benjy wasn’t particularly bright, interesting, or helpful, choosing to doodle a bunch of what Lily realized were penises in the margins of his notes in lieu of helping with the assignment.

Marlene went on a couple of dates with Peter, then broke up with him.

James dated Deirdre for nearly a week, going on two awkward dates with her before that fizzled out. Three months later, he began to date a pretty, blonde Ravenclaw named Sue.

Lily liked Sue. Most of the school, in fact, liked Sue. She was friendly, and smart.

It turned out that Sue did _not_ like Lily, however.

Lily was studying in the library with Emmeline when Sue swooped in from nowhere to sit beside Lily. Emmeline had literally just left that seat to find a book in the stacks.

“Hi, Sue.”

“Are you trying to steal my boyfriend?”

Lily blinked. “What?"

“You are,” Sue accused. “Just admit it. What’s the point of denying it?”

“Why would I want to steal your boyfriend?”

Sue scoffed. “I saw the two of you in Herbology. You had your hands all _over_ him.”

“We’re talking about James, right?” Lily said. Then again, she hadn’t had her hands all over anyone; she didn’t know why she needed that clarified. “Sue, I don’t know—”

“I _saw_ you.”

Lily frowned. She’d been partnered with James for Herbology on Thursday, and they’d been joking while they worked, yes, but. Wait, was Sue talking about when the carnivorous, flesh-eating ivy took a shine to James, and started trying to reproduce with him, climbing up his arms, and covering him, and Lily had to tear it off while James swatted it, and shouted that it tickled, and it was molesting him, and _get it off, get it off_?

“Well?” Sue demanded.

“James is a toerag,” Lily said, “but I’ve known him forever, and, yes, we’re _friends_.”

“He made you a flower crown, Lily.”

“Sounds like your problem is with _him_ , not me,” Lily replied, annoyed at this point. “We were partners in Herbology, yes. I’m sorry that upsets you. Take it up with Professor Sprout. But I didn’t ask him to make me a flower crown. And the fact that your boyfriend got bored when Sprout started her lecture, and made his partner a stupid flower crown isn’t exactly the terribly incriminating evidence that you seem to think it is.” She glared.

Sue leaned in closer to Lily. “He’s _my_ boyfriend.”

Lily leaned in closer, too. “Well, _I_ ’ve seen him naked. Have _you_?”

Sue gaped.

“Hi, Sue!” Emmeline said brightly.

Sue pushed to her feet without a word, and stormed from the library, earning a glare from Madame Pinch.

James dropped onto the couch next to Lily after dinner that night. “Lily.”

“Jamie.”

“I have a, ah. Question. For you.”

“Go on.”

“You didn’t happen to tell anyone that we had a close, _physical_ relationship, did you?”

Lily grinned.

“Merlin,” he exclaimed, sitting up straight. “You _did_?”

“No,” she said, dismissive. “But when your girlfriend started to _harass_ me, I might have lost my temper a bit, and told her that I’ve seen you naked. I didn’t clarify that it was when we were six, and I barged into the loo while you were taking a bath.” She shrugged.

He grinned, and shook his head. “I’m glad you’re pleased with yourself.” He slumped in the seat, propping his feet up on the table. “She broke up with me, you know.”

“I’m sorry.” She bit her lip, and sighed. “I can tell her that I was teasing her.”

“Nah,” he said. “She didn’t even think my jokes were that funny.”

“Your jokes aren’t that funny.”

“Oi.” He pointed at finger at her. “Keep it up, and you’ll never see me naked again.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You’re coming to the match on Saturday, right? You have to. If we win, it’ll be us against Hufflepuff for the Cup.”

“Sure.”

“Remember in our second year, when you made a banner for my very first match?”

She smirked. “Did I? Huh. I forgot.”

She made a banner for him that evening, working on it in her dorm so that he wouldn’t get to see it until she unfurled it in the stands, and made Marlene hold it with her.

After they won, she ran onto the pitch with Marlene, and they joined the crush of people who were hugging the team, and congratulating them. James grabbed her arm, and pulled her into his chest, hugging her.

She laughed, and smacked a kiss to his cheek.

She ruffled his hair, too, only to squeal at how slick it was with sweat. He grinned, and, before she could stop him, rubbed his head against her neck, and her cheek, rubbing his sweat on her, and making her laugh, and swat at him.

He kept his arm hooked over her shoulders after, keeping her with him while he got congratulated, and clapped on the shoulder, and Remus gave him a one-armed, boy hug. Lily saw Sue then, and a part of her felt suddenly bad. But before she could pull away from James, he tightened his hold, and turned to greet Peter, bringing her along with him.

He was probably using her to try to avoid Sue, which was ridiculous.

But he’d won the match, and he was happy, so she let him.

She went on her first date later that month. His name was Brian, and he was in their year, and in Ravenclaw, and nice to everyone. They walked to Hogsmeade, and had Butterbeers, and talked about their classes, and their taste in music, and how he wanted to be a Healer, and he _was_ really nice, but it was kind of awkward, and kind of boring.

They shared a hug after, and didn’t go on a second date.

The rest of the year flew by.

It was probably her favorite year of school yet, only to be ruined at the end.

Lily was heading out to meet Marlene by the lake when she stumbled onto a commotion in the corridor. There was shouting, and laughter, and a crowd of people, circling something, or someone. Lily pushed her way through the crowd to discover that Severus was at the center of the commotion, stumbling blindly through the growing, twisting ribbons of what Lily realized in horror was his _hair_. It had some sort of crazy growth spell on it, growing and growing and growing, so quick, and so thick, blinding him, flooding the corridor. He tripped, and fell, and the awful, roaring laughter nearly tripled.

“Looks like somebody is having a bad hair day!” James yelled.

She whirled to get a look at him.

He stood with his friends, looking on, and laughing, and she _knew_. She shoved her way towards him. “James!” He grinned, and hot, visceral anger choked her. “Reverse it.”

“I don’t know how to reverse it!” He was gleeful.

“You hexed him, and you don’t know how to undo it?” She was incredulous. There was another fresh round of laughter, and James clapped Sirius on the arm, but Lily refused to look over her shoulder. “What the hell is the _matter_ with you?” she demanded.

“We figured if he could just _see_ how truly gross his hair is,” Sirius said, grinning, “he might be convinced to buy a bottle of shampoo. We’re doing him a favor, Evans.”

She stared.

“Lily—” James started, cajoling, and the laughter was loud in his voice.

She spun on her heel. She was done with them. She needed to help Severus, who hadn’t got anywhere in his efforts to escape his hair, or the hoards of people who laughed at him. Lily began to use a simple slicing charm, slicing at the hair to wade her way through it. She heard Sirius booing at her, but she ignored him, and grabbed Severus’s hand.

“Get off me!” he growled.

“I’m trying to get you to a professor,” Lily said. “Somebody who’ll reverse it.”

He yanked his hand from her grasp, and that was, of course, when a professor _finally_ appeared, and yelled at the crowd to disperse. It was Professor Reedy, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and he took one look at Severus, waved his wand, and the hair stopped growing instantly. “Who is responsible for this?” Reedy asked, irritated.

Severus didn’t answer, turning on his heel, and escaping at last.

“They were,” Lily said, fuming. She nodded her head at James, Sirius, Peter, and Remus.

Reedy sighed. “Of course. That’ll be detention for the week for the lot of you.”

“Worth it,” Peter said.

“But since it seems that detention is no longer the detriment to you boys that it’s intended to be,” Reedy continued, glaring at them, “how about fifty points from Gryffindor?”

“ _Fifty_?” Sirius repeated, and his laughter was gone.

“Try to argue, and make it sixty.” It was silent. “Yes, that’s what I thought. You’ll clean up this mess, too.” He nodded at the hair, and didn’t wait for them to respond, leaving.

Sirius scoffed, and his gaze found Lily. “You had to point the finger at us, didn’t you?”

“He would have figured it out,” Remus said.

“You really think that was funny?” Lily asked, looking from Sirius to James. “Attacking him like that? That was the cruelest thing I’ve ever seen, but that was _funny_ to you?”

“Guy’s a git,” James said, dismissive.

She exploded. “Just because he’s in Slytherin, doesn’t make him a git!”

“You know, _you_ attacked a Slytherin for fun,” Sirius said.

It took her a moment. “ _Rosier_?”

“Yes,” Sirius said, crossing his arms, and leveling a glare at her. “ _Rosier_ ,” he repeated.

She opened her mouth, and was ready to tell him that he didn’t know what he was talking about, that Rosier had _deserved_ to be hexed. She hadn’t hexed him for laughs, but because he’d needed to know that he couldn’t call her that, couldn’t treat people that way. But she stared at Sirius, and she swallowed the words. She wouldn’t give that to him.

“You’re an arse,” she told him.

“You’re a hypocrite.”

“I had a reason to do that!” she yelled. “I wasn’t doing it to be _funny!_ But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? Everything’s a big joke to you. Everything is _hilarious_.”

“Lily.” James frowned.

“You’re as bad as he is,” she said. “I can’t believe I used to be friends with you.”

He was quiet, and she was glad. She was done with them. She stalked away from them, clenching her hands into fists, and willing the anger that was boiling in her to settle.

Eventually, it did.

But she was finished with James. People at Hogwarts seemed to worship the ground that he walked on, but she didn’t. She _wouldn’t_. He wasn’t a showoff, or a clown; that she could have lived with, would have liked, in fact; he was an attention-seeker, and a _bully_.

She couldn’t stand it, or him.

He caught up to her after Divination on Friday to talk. “I asked Marlene about Rosier,” he said. “She told me what he called you.” He paused. “She was surprised I didn’t know.”

“Why would you know?”

“We’re friends.”

“We haven’t been friends in years,” she snapped, and picked up her pace, leaving him behind.

\---

Once a year on the anniversary of the day their parents died, Auntie took them to visit the cemetery where they were buried. It was in May, which meant it was usually a warm, breezy day, and they dressed up, put on hats and stockings and heels, and stood in front of the grave in silence. Auntie always made a dozen fresh, beautiful flowers sprout in front of their gravestone, and they left, staying quiet because it seemed so wrong to talk.

For a couple of years, Lily did tell the gravestone that she missed them.

By the time she was a teenager, she just kept quiet.

She returned to Hogwarts with her auntie after, and forgot to think about them.

She was sixteen when she was reminded of them in the cruelest way possible. It was nearing the end of their fifth year at Hogwarts; the weather was growing steadily warmer, summer was creeping up on them, ushering in the O.W.L.s, and making everyone restless, and _it_ happened, and was immediately splashed across the front of the _Prophet_.

Marlene paid for her copy, and Lily watched the horror play across her face.

She wasn’t the only person who subscribed to the paper. Soon, the whole school knew.

There was an attack in London by followers of Voldemort, and Voldemort was there, too; photographs were in the _Daily Prophet_ , showing him walking in the rubble of the street. Nearly fifty Muggles were dead, and more were injured, and interviews with terrified, befuddled Muddle witnesses described the way that Voldemort had tortured the Muggles.

It was sickening, and it was terrifying, and it was all anybody was talking about.

“Did you hear that there was a Muggle that tried to fight back?”

Her back went stiff as soon as she heard the words. From the corner of her eyes, she saw them. It was a group of Slytherins, standing in the very far corner of the dungeon. Slughorn had left the room, and Lily realized that the rest of the Gryffindors had, too. She shouldn’t have dawdled while packing up, and told her friends to go on without her.

Mulciber laughed. “The Dark Lord made the fool choke his wife to death.”

“You hear that, Evans?” asked Avery, louder.

She turned to look at him, refusing to be cowed by the taunt in his voice.

“You’re on the list, you know,” he went on. “You, and all of your sort. What he did to those Muggles? That’s nothing to what he’ll do to filthy Mudblood slags like you.”

“Ooh,” Lily said. “Now you’ve _really_ frightened me.”

His face went dark, hateful, but she stalked from the dungeon before he could retort.

She could hear his voice in her head, though, couldn’t _stop_ hearing it.

It wasn’t his threat that stayed with her after she’d left, that followed her for the rest of the day, and into the night. She lay in bed, and she thought about the innocent, unsuspecting Muggles in London, and she thought about her parents. She’d imagined when she’d learned the whole truth about their death that it had still been as sudden as a bomb, and they hadn’t suffered, hadn’t even had a chance to be afraid before they’d died.

But that probably wasn’t how it happened, was it?

Had they been tortured? Humiliated?

Had they tried to fight? Had her daddy been like that man, trying to protect his wife?

She didn’t know, and she never would, and she didn’t know if that was better or worse, not knowing. She barely even remembered her parents; she just had imprints of them, feelings, and the memory of memories. She remembered the smell of her mother’s perfume, and how she had sung them to sleep at night. She remembered the tickle of her father’s beard, and how she’d thought his hands were so huge in comparison to her own. They’d died so long ago, and had so little an impact on her life, and it hurt to realize.

It was storming out. She opened the window by her bed, and stuck her hand out to feel it.

She left the dorm, keeping as quiet as possible.

Outside, it was darker out than she’d expected, and the rain was heavier, pouring from the sky in buckets, and pounding the ground. The flashes of lightning made the grounds glow brightly for seconds at a time, and she pressed her back to the stone of the school, and tilted her head to the sky, watching it, and imagining. She sank to the ground, and wrapped her arms around her knees. She was half-sheltered from the rain, but it managed to reach her anyway, to prick at her skin, soaking her nightgown drop by drop, bit by bit.

His footsteps were drowned by the sound of the storm.

But he moved to sit, and the press of his thigh was warm on her cold, wet hip.

“You aren’t going to say anything?” she asked.

“I was trying to think of a clever way to ask why we’re sitting in the rain,” James replied.

She wiped at her nose. “How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t.”

She glanced at him.

“I figured I’d go for a stroll, and happened to run into you doing the same.” He shrugged, and ran a hand through his hair.

She looked at the sky. “I used to be afraid of thunderstorms.”

“I know.” It was quiet.

She tightened her hold on her knees. “I don’t remember my parents that much,” she told him, “but I remember the night they died. They were in the city on a date, and Jessica was babysitting us. She lived right down the street, and I remember I liked her. But I was scared, because it was storming that night, and it was a storm like this, and I was so afraid of storms. Jessica kept saying there was nothing to be afraid of, and I kept making her promise that my parents were coming home soon, and she did. She promised they were. But they never did.” Tears burned in her eyes, and she clenched her jaw. “It was storming like this, and they probably died like those Muggles last week. They did. They were tortured, and—” She started to cry. “I’m sorry. But I can’t stop thinking about it, and—”

“It’s alright.”

She shook her head, pressing a hand to her mouth.

“ _Lily_.” His fingers were hesitant on her arm.

“I’m—” But she couldn’t get it out, gasping for breath, and sobbing, and when he shifted, she folded easily into his arms. He hugged her while she hugged herself, sheltering her from the rain, and she let him; she pressed her face into the cotton of his pajamas, and burrowed into the warmth of him, into the smell of soap, and the thump of his heartbeat.

She cried until she was exhausted, wrung out.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Forget it.” His nose was cold against her temple, but his breath was warm.

She drew away from him at last. “We should go in.” She brushed at her cheeks, mustered a smile. “We’ve got our Herbology exam in the morning, and Potions right after.”

“Right.” He nodded. “Fancy a snack first, though?”

She smiled.

They snuck into to the kitchen, and were greeted immediately by several very concerned, very kind House Elves, who ushered them quickly into a pair of chairs, found a dozen warm, soft blankets to drape over their shoulders, and piled warm food in front of them.

“Your hair looks absurd,” Lily said. It was sticking up in every possible direction.

“Yeah, well, you look like a drowned red squirrel.”

She grinned, and stole a muffin off the plate in front of him.

“Your parents,” he said, hesitant.

She sighed. “We don’t have to talk about it.” She didn’t really want to.

“Can you tell me about them?”

She bit her lip. “I don’t remember a lot. I remember my dad—my dad liked to garden. Like my auntie. He grew rose bushes. Or maybe I don’t remember that, maybe Tuney told me that. I don’t know. But, um. Yeah. He loved roses.” She went on, told him everything that she remembered about them. It wasn’t very much, but it was something.

\---

James snuck up on her from behind after their very last O.W.L., knocking a knee lightly into the back of her leg, and making her stumble a little in surprise. She shoved him.

He grinned. “How’d you do?”

“My favorite part of exams is when they’re over,” she replied, “and I never, ever have to think about them again. Ever. Please respect that, or we can’t be friends anymore.”

They sat with his mates, basking in the sunshine.

James had stolen a stitch, and was playing with it, showing off.

Lily made flowers sprout up in the grass around them, and made ivy grow from the tip of her wand, charming the shoots to twist around her wrist into bracelets, and sending a shoot to climb the tree that James was leaning on, and brush him playfully on the cheek.

He jumped, and she grinned. “You know ivy doesn’t like me!” he cried, high-pitched.

Sirius laughed.

“I think the problem is that it likes you _too_ much,” Lily said.

He batted it away, and she let it slither back down the tree, and up her shoulders, into her hair, circling her hair, pulling it up, and back, inviting the breeze to cool her neck.

“You ready for Transfiguration?” Remus asked.

Lily shuddered. “My goal is a P, and that’s only because I don’t think I could look my aunt in the eye ever again if I got a D. Is there worse than a D? That’s a possibility for me.”

“It’ll be cake,” Sirius dismissed.

“If you’re feeling that confident, you’re welcome to quiz me,” Remus said.

“Excellent,” Sirius said. “I needed a bit of entertainment.”

Remus frowned. “Really?”

Sirius wasn’t talking about quizzing Remus, though. James grinned. “Oi! _Snivellus_!”

“Don’t,” Lily warned.

It was already too late for that. Severus reacted instantly, but James was ready, and faster, and disarmed him in the blink of an eye, jinxing him in another, and drawing a crowd.

“Leave him alone,” Lily said sharply. “He hasn’t done anything to you.”

“You know who he’s friends with, don’t you?” James said.

“I didn’t know he _had_ friends,” Sirius said.

“He’s friends with _me_ ,” Lily snapped. She didn’t know why James had to go after him constantly, why James had to go after anyone ever. “Leave. Him. _Alone_.”

James sighed, and lifted the spell. “You’re lucky that Lily was here, Snivelly.”

Severus scrambled quickly to his feet, flushed, and furious, gripping his wand with bony white knuckles. “I don’t need help from a filthy little Mudblood like her!” he spat.

Lily was stunned.

James raised his wand in a fury, opening his mouth.

But she grabbed his wrist, and stopped him, staring at Severus. Is this why her parents were killed? Because of insecure little boys like Severus Snape, who were brainwashed by a monster? Is this who killed them? Her chest was tight. “Don’t waste your time, Jamie,” she said coldly. “You wouldn’t want to get any of the grease that’s oozing off his nose on you.”

Severus’s nostrils flared, and he left.

“You should’ve let me hex his pants off,” James muttered.

“I don’t think that would’ve been enjoyable for anyone,” Marlene said, walking up with Emmeline at her heels. “You okay?” she asked. Lily nodded, and changed the subject. She was fine. She’d learned who her friends were, and she wouldn’t forget so easily again.


	2. Chapter 2

Summer was dreary that year, raining and raining. The sky was always gray, and on the verge of a storm. On the days when the rain let up, it was hot, muggy, and miserable.

In July, Mrs. Potter declared it was time for a party.

“It’ll liven up this place!” she insisted, and she wanted Lily to host it with her.

It turned out that meant a lot of work. They had to decide on a theme, and a menu, pick out invitations, and make a list of guests. They had to go into London to buy the decorations, and Lily learned several charms for cleaning, and decorating, and hosting.

It was _exhausting_ , but it was kind of fun, too.

The day of was strangely calm.

Mrs. Potter gave her a set of robes to wear. They were silver, shimmery, and soft, cutting low across her chest, and flowing in waves of silver. They were gorgeous, in fact, and Lily was a little in awe of herself in them, turning in front of the mirror to look at herself.

“Beautiful,” said Mrs. Potter, prodding at the curls in Lily’s hair with her wand.

“Petunia is going to be furious.”

Mrs. Potter was searching for something, and waved a hand at the comment, dismissive. “Nonsense,” she said. “I gave her a set of lovely gold robes to wear this evening. Ah!”

Lily’s eyes went wide, seeing the necklace that Mrs. Potter had fished out.

“This was always my favorite,” said Mrs. Potter, “and it matches your robes _perfectly_!”

“You’re sure?” Lily asked.

Mrs. Potter was already putting it on Lily. “Certainly.” She smiled, and Lily stared at Mrs. Potter in the mirror while the woman fiddled with the clasp. “I know you’re Minerva’s, of course, but I like to think you’re a little mine, too. Oh, it’s just perfect!”

Lily grazed her fingers over the emeralds. “It’s beautiful.”

Mrs. Potter put her chin on Lily’s shoulder, smiling at her in the mirror.

“I love it,” Lily said, soft.

Mrs. Potter sighed happily. “I’m glad you’re getting on with James again, Precious.”

Lily bit her lip. “Me, too.”

“Now!” Mrs. Potter clapped, and her eyes were bright, mischievous. “Time for a party!”

James found Lily as soon as the party was in swing.

She was glad; the ballroom filled quickly with people, and it was nice to have him with her. Just about everyone knew James, and he seemed to know everyone, too, weaving easily among them, and charming his way out of conversations that dragged on, touching a hand to Lily’s back, and taking her with him, finding another something to snack on.

“James, darling!” called a woman.

“Mrs. Abbot, this is Lily,” James introduced. “Lily, Mrs. Abbot, and her husband. Lily is in my year at Hogwarts. She’s in Gryffindor, too, and the best in our year at Potions.”

Lily smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You, too,” said Mrs. Abbot.

“You’re one of Minerva’s orphans, aren’t you?” asked Mr. Abbott, inspecting her.

Lily stared. “Her niece.”

“Yes.” He nodded, and his smile was patronizing. “Of course. She’s talked about you. Your parents were Muggles, I’m told, and your sister, too, is a Muggle, isn’t she?”

James intervened. “There’s my uncle!” He smiled at the couple. “Excuse us,” he said.

They escaped into the quiet, empty corridor.

“One of Minerva’s _orphans_?” Lily hissed. “Why would you _say_ that to someone? How entitled can you possibly be to think that’s alright, that you can say that to someone?”

“Abbott is an ugly, old booger,” James said. “Ignore him.”

“I can’t!” she exploded. “I do it all the time, ignore it. _Them_. I mean, Professor Slughorn loves me, but he still feels the need to write on my essays _so impressive for a Muggle-born_! And he isn’t even the worse. If I mess up at something, or I’m not good enough, it’s because I’m a lowly Muggle-born, but if I’m successful, or I do something really well? Then it’s shocking, and special, and we have to talk about it, because everything has to be about that. Because haven’t you heard? It’s the most important thing about me!”

James was quiet.

“I’m sorry.” Lily sighed, shook her head. “I don’t mean to yell at you.”

“It’s alright.”

“He _is_ an ugly, old booger.”

James smiled. “Do you want to ditch?”

They ended up leaving the party, and leaving the house. The backyard was dark and quiet and empty, and, for a moment, the warmth of the muggy summer weather felt nice after the cold of the house. But the heat found them quickly, and there was nothing to do but to kick off their shoes, and strip off their robes, and dive off the small old dock into the lake.

Lily was careful to slip Mrs. Potter’s necklace into the small inner pocket of her robes.

She floated on her back, feeling the pricks of raindrops. “It’s raining.”

It was quiet.

She turned, and realized he was gone. “James?”

There was a grab at her ankle, and she screamed, and was yanked under the water; when she escaped, swimming up, and broke the surface, it was to be greeted with James’s laughter. She sent a wave of water at him, and was forced to tackle him, and drunk him.

\---

She was startled when Mark caught up to her in the corridor, and fell into step with her. He was in the year above her, and a Ravenclaw, and she had no idea why he’d want to talk to her. They were both in Slughorn’s club, but they’d never, ever had a conversation.

“Hi, Lily.” He smiled. He was fit, was tall, and had neat, soft-looking ash blonde hair.

“Hi, Mark,” she greeted. “How was your summer?”

It turned out that he didn’t really want to make small talk. He wanted to ask her on a date.

She was stunned, and flattered.

They went to Hogsmeade that weekend. He took her hand while they walked, and made her nervous at his closeness. They ate lunch, and wandered the town. He quizzed her about her interests, and recommended a lot of fantastic wizard authors that she needed to read, and she entertained him with a couple of stories about growing up with her auntie.

She liked him.

She was kind of awe of him, in fact.

He was good-looking, and kind of brilliant, and he seemed so certain of himself in a way that she liked, that she found very attractive. He wasn’t a showboat. He was sweet.

They hugged after the date, and she was left with a stupid, irrepressible smile.

She’d never really dated. She’d gone on a date a few years ago, but it’d been awkward, and hadn’t been repeated. She’d fancied boys, of course, but that was for the fun of fancying a boy. It had never amounted to much, and she’d never actually fancied anyone enough that she’d really, truly wanted it to amount to anything. She’d moved on easily.

It turned out that dating was kind of fun.

Three days later, he asked her to go to Hogsmeade with him for dinner on Friday; he’d gotten special permission to go. He was a Prefect, and considered to be trustworthy.

She’d never been to Hogsmeade in the evening. It was a whole different place.

He kissed her.

It was at the end of the date; they were nearly at the Fat Lady’s portrait when he slowed, and tugged on her hand, and she knew what he wanted. “Can I kiss you?” he asked.

She nodded. She’d never been kissed before, and her breath caught when he leaned in.

There wasn’t a lot to it, though.

He just kind of put his lips on her lips, and, well. Randomly, she thought of a chicken. It was a peck from a chicken. He paused, and she was going to move away from him, thinking it was over for now. It wasn’t. He leaned in again, and kissed her, moved his mouth, and she was at a loss for what to do, trying to respond. It was weird, and awkward, and his tongue was in her mouth, and what was she supposed to do with that? She started to move away again, but that simply made him lean in closer, and carry on.

He tucked her hair behind her ear when he was finally done. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She put on a smile.

Marlene, Emmeline, and Deirdre were waiting to talk to her in the dorm.

“How was it?” Emmeline asked, eager.

“Good,” Lily said, sitting on her bed. “He kissed me.”

They exploded with excitement in the way that she’d known they would. “It’s about time you got kissed,” said Deirdre, and Marlene said that Lily never, ever noticed when boys flirted with her, and it was lucky that Mark was willing to be blatant. Of course, Emmeline wanted to hear about the kiss, and Lily shrugged, and didn’t really have an answer, but they took her speechlessness to be a very good sign; they smiled, and sighed.

It was later that Marlene climbed quietly into Lily’s bed, and pinched her. “Oi.”

“What?” Lily whispered.

“Why don’t you seem more excited?” Marlene asked. “I thought you really liked him.”

“I do.”

There was a pause; Lily could _feel_ Marlene’s stare in the dark.

“The kiss was kind of awkward.”

“Boys,” Marlene said, and Lily assumed that was supposed to be an explanation.

“I think it was my fault,” she confessed. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“You’ll learn.”

In the morning, she saw Mark with his friends, and turned on her heel before he saw her.

Was the problem that she was bad at kissing?

Or was kissing like that?

Was it Mark? Was it that she liked him, but she didn’t really know him yet?

It was impossible to avoid him forever, of course, and she knew she shouldn’t want to. She did like him, after all. One bad kiss didn’t change that. He caught up with her at breakfast on Monday, and invited her to sit with him at the upcoming Quidditch match.

She agreed.

“Then it’s a date,” he said, and he kissed her cheek before he headed off to class.

It turned on that watching a match was a great date idea. It gave them something to do other than talk.

They’d run out of things to talk about.

She knew by the end of the date that she didn’t really want to go on another. Mark was nice, and smart, and he _was_ good-looking, but she wasn’t really attracted to him.

It wasn’t just that kiss. She’d realized, well. She’d realized he just wasn’t very much fun.

He walked her across the grounds, and into the school.

“This was fun,” she told him.

He nodded. “It was.”

She offered a small, apologetic smile. “I think maybe we’re better off as friends, though.”

“Oh, um.” He raised his eyebrows, and let out a breath, awkward. “Alright.” There was a pause, and she gave him a brief, awkward hug. “I’ll see you around, I guess,” he said.

\---

She couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss, though, and how much she _hadn’t_ liked it.

She thought about it when her mind drifted in class, and when she was going to sleep at night, staring at the canopy of her bed. She thought about it on patrol with Remus, and reading in the library with Emmeline. She had tea with her auntie on Sunday, and wondered suddenly, randomly if her aunt had ever kissed anyone before. She must’ve. Had it been so terrible that her aunt had decided never, ever to bother with kissing again?

She tried to work on her essay for Astronomy, and gave up.

“I’ll be back,” she said, and left her friends.

It was a freezing Sunday morning, and everyone had elected to stay in to avoid the sleet. In their dormitory, the boys were smoking from pipes, and playing a game of cards.

She’d never actually been in their dormitory; it was the way she would have expected. It was mostly undecorated, and was messy, and cluttered, and it smelled like something gone stale, like sweat, and old, dirty socks. It smelled, in short, like gross teenage boys.

“Lily!” Peter greeted.

She smiled. “Hi, Pete.” But she was there for James. “I need to talk to you,” she told him, dropping onto what she hoped was his still slightly warm, unmade bed. “In private.”

It took a minute for them to abandon their game, and get to their feet, finishing with their pipes. But Sirius, Remus, and Peter left, and James shut the door pointedly after them. “What’s up?” He turned to Lily in concern, and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it.

She bit her lip. “You’re a boy.”

“Right.”

“I need your help.”

He sat by her on the bed. “Okay . . .”

She turned, pulling her legs up under her. “Kissing,” she said.

He blinked.

“I don’t know if it’s just gross, and everybody pretends it’s not, or I’m bad at it, or—”

“Who said you’re bad at it?” he asked, affronted.

“Nobody.” She sighed. “You know I went out with Mark Houser, right?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Right.”

“Well, he kissed me,” she said, “and it was my first kiss, and it was—just kind of terrible. It was awkward, and—I didn’t know what I was doing, so I was just kind of standing there, and he stuck his tongue in my mouth, and I—it was just _really_ awkward, and bad.”

“He did it wrong,” James said. “Lily, seriously. He did it wrong.”

“Can you do it right?”

“What?”

“Kiss me,” she said, “and tell me what to do. How to kiss you back, or whatever.”

He stared. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“You want me to kiss you, and . . . kiss you?”

“Yes.”

He blinked. “It—it isn’t that hard,” he said, pink-cheeked. “It’s— _kissing_. It—” He ruffled his hair. “If the kiss was bad, it was his fault. _Trust me_ , alright? He’s lousy at kissing.”

She rested her hands on her shoulders. “Kiss me.”

“I should warn you,” he said. “I’m really, really good at kissing.”

She snorted. “Prove it.”

His eyes dropped to her mouth, then snapped up again, and he let out a breath, and looked away, looked at her again. “Well, I can’t do it when you’re _staring_ at me like that.”

She tapered a smile, and nodded. “Okay.” She closed her eyes.

“Do you have to _smirk_ at me?”

“I’m not smirking at you.”

“I’m doing you a favor, you know.”

“Right now, you’re just doing a lot of talking, and not a lot of kissing.”

She felt the shift of the bed when he shifted, and she curled her fingers in his jumper. He paused, but she could feel his nearness. It made her suddenly, strangely nervous. She sucked in a breath, and his lips grazed her mouth; the kiss was soft, and barely even there.

“Is that it?” she whispered.

He made a noise of irritation. “For the love of Merlin’s—!”

She laughed, and was going to open her eyes when he pushed his fingers into her hair, and cupped her face, startling her. Then he pressed his lips to her lips, and _kissed_ her.

“What am I supposed to do?” she breathed.

“Kiss me back.”

“ _How_?”

“Just when you feel like it, open your mouth,” he instructed. “Then do what I do.”

He kissed her again, and it was soft, and chaste, teasing. He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and his nose bushed her nose softly, and gave her another kiss, and another.

Inadvertently, she parted her lips.

He kissed her bottom lip, and sucked it slightly into his mouth, tilted his head, and kissed her chastely again, kissed her parted lips, and she found herself copying him, kissing his upper lip, and moving her lips hesitantly on his. It was wet, and messy, but she was flushed, and her heart was beating so quickly, so wildly; she shifted on her knees to press in closer to him. His tongue brushed softly over her lip, and she opened her mouth, brushing her tongue tentatively against his, and tilting her head, knocking into his glasses.

They didn’t miss a beat, though.

She laughed, and tugged off the spectacles, and he surged in, kissed her again.

He snaked his arms around her waist, and the kiss grew sloppier still; she bit his lip by accident, and there was spit on her chin, and she had to break the kiss to shift on the bed, swiping her lips against his nose by mistake, but it made him laugh, and warm, wild excitement was coursing in her blood, and making her shaky with affection. Breathless, she drew away from the kiss again, and he decided to pepper her face in kisses while she caught her breath, to kiss her cheek, and her chin, and the side of her nose, and she laughed, and pressed in closer, sliding her hands into his hair, kissing and kissing him.

“Brought you a tart,” said Sirius, barging into the dormitory with Peter at his heels.

They sprang apart.

Lily wiped at her mouth, glancing at James. He was panting, was rosy-cheeked, and red-lipped. She looked away quickly.

Sirius gaped. “I . . . can bring you the tart later.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his expression. “It’s fine,” she said. Her heart was still beating fast, but she got it together. She smoothed a hand over her hair, and stood. “I think we’re finished.” She glanced at James. “Thanks, ah, for your help.”

He blinked at her with naked, owlish eyes, and swallowed. “Sure.”

She left the dormitory.

In the instant right before the door shut after her, she heard James exclaim, “you had to bring me a _tart_?!”

She made it a flight of stairs before she had to sag into the railing.

She’d just snogged James. In the middle of the afternoon, she’d snogged James bloody Potter. On his bed. They’d been on his bed, and they’d snogged. _Snogged_! She’d just snogged James. _James_. Potter! James Potter! He’d put his tongue in her mouth. _James_!

She found her friends where she’d left them, and it must’ve been written on her face.

“What?” Marlene said.

Lily bit her lip. “I might’ve snogged James.”

“Lily!” Emmeline gasped.

“How was it?” Marlene asked.

“Kind of fantastic, actually,” Lily said. “I mean, like, really, bloody _fantastic_.”

Marlene grinned.

“Does this mean you’re dating James now?” Emmeline asked.

Lily blinked. “I don’t—” She couldn’t date James. “We’re friends,” she said. You didn’t date your friends. You dated the boy you daydreamed about in class; you dated the boy that made you feel shy and silly and flattered simultaneously, who you were excited to know more about, to talk to, to share a look with across the room. She’d never, ever daydreamed about James. She knew everything there was to know about James. She’d seen him pick his nose. He’d been five at the time, of course, but she remembered it regardless. “I just wanted to kiss somebody who would tell me if I was doing it wrong.”

Emmeline shrieked.

“What?”

“I saw a _rat_!” She lowered her voice. “There are rats in this tower!”

“Well, I think you _should_ date him,” Marlene said, ignoring Emmy’s alarm, and ticking off her fingers while she went. “He’s super fit, and he’s always fun, and, I mean, you know you get along with him. You’ve been friends with him since you were in nappies.”

“I met him when we were five.”

“Whatever,” Marlene said. “You know what I mean. Plus, you liked snogging him.”

“He might not want to date me,” Lily said.

Marlene scoffed.

“What?”

“Lily, come on,” Marlene said. “He looks at you like the sun shines out of your butt.”

“It’s true.” Emmeline smiled.

“I _asked_ him to kiss me,” Lily said. “I had to talk him into it.”

“Let’s put aside his feelings for a second,” Emmeline said, “and focus on _your_ feelings. You snogged him, and you liked it. Can we safely say that you’re attracted to him?”

“It isn’t news that James is _fit_.” He had that thick, soft hair, and his smile was infectious, and he was lean, and muscled from Quidditch, and broad-shouldered, too, so that his frame fit around you perfectly in a hug. “Half the girls at Hogwarts are in love with him.”

“How would you feel if he started dating someone?” Emmeline asked.

“He’s dated girls before.”

“Not really,” Marlene said. “He’s been on dates, but he’s never really had a girlfriend.”

“There was Sue.”

“Right,” Marlene said, raising her eyebrows. “Remind me why they broke up?”

 _Did_ James like her that way? Would he want to date her? He hadn’t exactly been eager to snog her. But he’d done it, and he’d seemed to like it, too. She’d liked it. She’d really, _really_ liked it. Did _she_ want to date _him_? She wanted to snog him again. She knew _that_.

“It couldn’t hurt to go on a date with him,” Emmeline said. “I mean, you’ve been friends for years. It’s not like you couldn’t just laugh the whole thing off if it’s a disaster.”

Lily nodded, and glanced at the clock. “Shoot.” It was nearly time for tea with her auntie. “Can you tell that I’ve been snogging?” she asked, rising to her feet, and combing her hair with her fingers. “I don’t need my auntie looking me up and down, and realizing it.”

“You’re fine,” Emmeline said.

“He untucked your shirt,” Marlene said.

Lily blushed. “He didn’t.” She fixed her blouse. “It must’ve just come out on its own.”

“Uh-huh,” Marlene said.

Lily made a face back at her, and headed for the portrait hole. She’d have to figure everything out later.

\---

She saw James at dinner that night. He came in with his friends after she’d arrived with Emmeline, and was in a loud, animated discussion with Sirius, waving his hands. Marlene saw him, too. Lily ignored Marlene’s kick to her ankle, and finished her dinner.

She left with her friends, only to hear him shout her name in the corridor.

He caught up with them.

Marlene was smirking when Emmeline took her by the elbow, and tugged her away, leaving Lily alone with James.

“Did you go flying in the sleet?” Lily asked, looking at his muddy Quidditch gear.

“Go on a date with me.”

She blinked, and suppressed a smile. “Is this you asking me, or telling me?”

He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Right, ah—” His cheeks had pinked, and the sight made her flush, too. “Lily, would you consider going on a date with me? Please?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling. “I’ll go on a date with you.”

He grinned. There was a beat of silence, and she laughed a little, realizing that they were just standing there. “How about dinner tomorrow night?” he said. “In Hogsmeade?"

“You have to get permission to go to Hogsmeade in the evenings.”

“Not really.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, alright. Tomorrow in Hogsmeade it is, then.”

Again, there was a pause.

“Do you have to finish your dinner, or . . .?” She gestured.

“Oh!” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Right, yeah. I’ve got to eat. We’ll talk later?”

“Sure.”

He hadn’t stopped smiling.

Impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek.

Her face was hot when she turned on her heel, and headed for the tower, but she couldn’t get the smile off her face. She rounded the corner, and pressed her hands to her cheeks. Well, that settled it. Marlene was right. He wanted to go on a date with her, and it turned out she wanted to go on a date with him, too.

\---

He took her to the statue of the One-Eyed Witch, and showed her the spell that revealed the opening to a secret, underground passageway into Hogsmeade. It was dark, and the tunnel seemed endless, but he passed the time by regaling her with tales of his misadventures over the years, discovering all of Hogwarts’s secrets with Sirius, Remus, and Peter.

It was snowing out when they emerged from the cellar of Honeydukes, and the lights on the street seemed to glow with warmth.

He tugged on the end of her ponytail. “How come you’ve let it get so long?”

“I like it long.” She shrugged. “It was my auntie who used to cut it short, and _sensible_. She claimed that if she didn’t cut it, it’d get so tangled that birds would roost in it.”

“I like birds.”

“That’s what I said!” Lily sighed. “I was ignored, of course.”

“Well, I like it long,” he said. “Also, short.” He paused. “I like it every which way.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, amused.

His smile became a grin, and he tugged playfully on the end of her ponytail again. She was about to swat his hand away, only to pause when he rubbed a lock between his fingers. She bit her lip. She would have swatted his hand away if she were walking with her friend, but she wasn’t walking with her friend. She was walking with her date. James.

She was on a date with James.

They went into the Three Broomsticks, and it was easy, and familiar, sitting and eating and talking with James. It was fun. She kept forgetting that it was a date, then remembering again, and wanting to laugh. They talked about what they always talked about, and when there was a pause, it wasn’t awkward, or uncomfortable. They were friends. On a date.

“Table to the left,” James said, nodding, and she looked. “What’s their story?”

She smiled. It was a game they used to play when they were younger.

“His name is Rupert, and he’s madly in love with his date, Pricilla, except he’s keeping a huge, terrible secret from her.” She lowered her voice. “He’s actually a mouse from Hogwarts who learned Transfiguration listening to my aunt, and has transformed himself into a man. That explains why he’s eating all the cheese on his plate, and on his date’s.”

“Ah,” James said. “I see.”

“Also, he likes the color red. Evidenced by his red jumper.”

He grinned.

“Now that far back booth,” Lily said, “ _that_ ’s a story. See his mustache?”

It was fun, going on a date with your friend.

He was strumming his fingers absently on the table while they finished their pudding, and she found herself looking at his hand, tracing her eyes over his knuckles, his fingers, his clean, short nails. She reached for his hand, and he let her take it, and let her turn it, spreading his palm for her. He sported a collection of callouses from Quidditch, and there was a small, faded flat pink scar on the side of his palm. She brushed her thumb over it.

“What’s that from?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I did something stupid probably?”

She smiled, and released his hand, taking her spoon to eat the last of the pudding.

The snow was falling in thick, flat flakes when they went into the street, and most of the shops were closing for the night.

They snuck into Honeydukes, and back into the passageway.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“We don’t have time for your questions, Lily,” he said. “This isn’t a long, dark tunnel.”

She elbowed him.

“What’s your question?” There was a smile in his voice.

She bit her lip. “Did you want to go on a date with me before I made you snog me?”

“Honestly?”

She looked at his face, though it was hard to see in the shadows.

“Yes,” he said. He looked at her, too, meeting her gaze. “I’ve fancied you for a while.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“Don’t tell Marlene, alright? I wouldn’t be able to live with her. She’d be insufferable.”

He laughed.

It was quiet. She smiled. “How long have you then? Fancied me?"

“Exactly?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

“Do, too,” she said.

He glanced at her, and raised his eyebrows. “You really want to know?”

“Yes!”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes!” She tugged on his arm. “Come on!”

He sighed. “I’ve always just liked you,” he said, “but I’ve _fancied_ you pretty much since I realized that girls, you know, smelled nice, and had . . . legs, and, you know, chests—”

She burst into laughter.

“—and that I _liked_ nice smelling girls with their legs, and chests,” he plowed on, ignoring her laughter. “And, oh, look, it turns out Lily is a nice smelling girl with legs, and—”

She turned, and pushed up on her toes, grabbing his shoulder, and kissing him. It was a short, quick kiss; she couldn’t stop laughing. But he responded, wrapping his arms around her, and pressing his lips to her face, to her cheeks, and to her open, laughing mouth.

“I’ll take that to mean you fancy me, too,” he said.

She hugged his neck. “Yes, Jamie,” she said, full to bursting. “I think I might fancy you, too.”

\---

There wasn’t much to dating a friend. They went on being friends, only now they flirted, and snogged, and when she was cold, she got to wear his jumper. It smelled like him.

If she wanted to take his hand in the corridor, she could.

She liked his hands. She liked his hair, too. She liked the way his sleeves were always rolled up, and his tie was always loose.

She liked everything about him.

It turned out that James was very, _very_ physically affectionate, and a part of Lily knew that, remembered how he’d been when they were young, but it was different now that they were dating, and he was allowed to be very, _very_ physically affectionate with her. He came up behind her in the corridor, and wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her. He picked her feet up off the sofa, and sat, putting her feet in his lap. He slumped in his seat in class, kicked out his legs, and nudged at her heel with his toe, bumping her foot up, and onto his foot. Half of the time it was silly, and all of the time, Lily loved it.

There wasn’t a soul at Hogwarts who didn’t know they were together.

Mostly, people couldn’t have cared less.

Severus cared, though.

There had been a time in her life when she’d thought that Severus was her friend. They’d been partnered in Potions year after year, and she’d liked it, liked him, and his company.

But at the beginning of their sixth year, she had asked not to be partnered with Severus.

Slughorn had agreed, pairing her with Remus.

Severus hadn’t questioned that. He hadn’t really tried to speak her to since that day he’d proven to be everything she’d assured her friends he wasn’t. It still hurt a little, remembering how someone she’d called a friend had said that to her, had looked at her like she really was beneath him. But it didn’t matter now. Clearly, they were _not_ friends.

It figured that as soon as she began dating James, Remus was going to fall suddenly ill, and Severus was going to take the opportunity to corner her in Potions, and harass her.

For a couple of minutes, they worked on their potions in silence.

“You’re dating him,” he said at last, and he said it darkly, accusing her.

She ignored him.

“It doesn’t bother you,” he went on, “that he struts around this castle like he owns it, and the rest of us are his lowly peasant subjects?” His gaze was burning the side of her face.

“I happen to like his strut,” she said.

“He’ll toss you aside as soon as he’s done with you,” Severus said.

She ignored him.

“He doesn’t care about you.”

She couldn’t. “I think you’ve got James confused with _you_ , Severus,” she snapped.

He stared.

“Last I recall, _you_ were the one who treated me like I was something you’d _stepped in_.”

He swallowed, and there was something new in his face. “Lily—”

“I was friends with James long before I ever met you,” she cut him off, “and there have been times when he’s been an arse, and I’ve thought the worst of him. But there has never, _ever_ been a time in my life when I thought James didn’t care about me. Not once.”

He was silent.

“I’m dating him,” she said. “If you don’t like that, I don’t really care.”

They didn’t talk for the rest of class.

She was still mad after, though, trying to work on her essay for Herbology, and stewing on the way that he’d spoken with such venom, and with such conviction, the way he’d acted like he actually cared about her, and that she ought to listen to him, heed his advice.

It made her angry just thinking about what he’d said, and _how_.

James was full of himself, but it was a stupid, silly kind of arrogance. He’d been a jerk, but most teenagers were. He’d grown out of the worst of it, and his ego was comical these days. He wasn’t like Severus’s group, truly believing they were better than others.

He wasn’t a bigot.

He was her boyfriend, and Severus Snape could go stuff it.

That was how James found her in the evening: sequestered by herself on one of the older, frumpy-looking sofas in a corner of the Common Room, writing an essay, and stewing.

“I’m exhausted,” he announced, dropping onto the sofa.

“Where have you been all day?” she asked.

“Sleeping.”

She nodded. “I suppose you can just go to class any old day.”

He shifted, and pushed his head in her lap, making her lift her arm for him, and sighing in content. She looked at him in amusement, and he blinked up at her innocently, smiling.

\---

It snowed for weeks that winter, freezing the lake, and frosting the windows, and pilling up on the grounds in fluffy white drifts that came up to Lily’s waist. She loved it. The castle stayed warm, and when they wanted, they got to bundle up, and escape into a fresh, new world.

They transformed their sneakers into skates, and skated on the lake. Lily was awful at skating, but. Still. It was fun.

They built a snowman, and put a Gryffindor tie on him.

Hagrid built them a bonfire on a particularly cold Saturday in March, and half the school gathered around it that afternoon, chatting, and snacking on chestnuts, drinking hot chocolate from the kitchens. Lily ended up in James’s lap, feeling the warmth of the fire on her face, and the warmth of him behind her. It was the kind of day when you wished for time to stop, and, for a moment, it seemed it had, and you’d always have that moment.

They had a huge snowball fight, too, between the Houses, and it went on for days.

James swore that her auntie gave him points for dodging a snowball from a Ravenclaw.

The fight was between the Houses, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t good, fun friendly fire, too. Lily got Sirius right square in the back, and James snuck up behind Lily in revenge, and crushed snow into her hair, making her shriek, and shove him into a drift.

He pulled her down with him.

The both of them got bombarded by all of their friends when Marlene found them snogging in the snow.

\---

On her birthday, James gave her a ring. "This isn't weird, is it?" he asked, flushing, and ruffling his hair. "It's just—you've always got on your mum's ring, so I figured you liked rings, and I saw this one, and it's got dragons on it, see? It doesn't mean anything. I mean, it means—”

"I love it," she told him.

It was thick silver band with a dragon carved delicately into the silver, and she slipped it on, grinning when it fit perfectly. She kissed him in thanks, and kissed him, and kissed him.

\---

It was at her aunt’s insistence that Lily had signed up to be a tutor that year. “It’ll look impressive on your application for internships after Hogwarts,” she’d claimed, and Lily hadn’t tried arguing with her. She’d signed up to do it once a week, and to do Herbology, or Potions.

She actually kind of liked it.

Mostly, she had the same set of about half a dozen first and second years, and she helped them do their homework. It was easy, and the kids were sweet. Her favorite was Tim.

He was a particularly small, mousy-haired Hufflepuff, and was _dreadful_ at Potions.

She was working in the library with him when Fawley came in, and saw them.

“I remember why I never come to the library,” Fawley told Avery, passing them. Tereus Fawley was a fourth-year, a Slytherin, and a shit. “They allow Mudbloods in here.”

Lily ignored him.

Tim, though? “Don’t call her that!” he exclaimed.

Fawley paused, and a thin, taunting smile crawled onto his mouth. “Or what?” he asked, skating his eyes over Tim in amusement. “What are you going to do about it? Tattle?”

“She’s a Prefect!” Tim said. “She can take points from Slytherin!”

“Prefects can’t take points, you imbecile.”

Tim reddened, but he continued to glare at Fawley.

“She’s got no power,” Fawley continued, and his gaze moved to Lily. “She’s nothing but a little orphan Mudblood who likes to play at Potions, and fuck Gryffindor boys.”

“Fawley,” Lily said coolly, closing her book, and straightening to look at him, “it’s a waste of time to be in the library when you can’t read. If you’re lost, might I suggest going to the dungeons? I’m sure you’ll be able to wank Avery off in peace down there.”

Fawley’s lip curled, and Avery opened his mouth furiously to retort, but he couldn’t.

“Out!” Pince hissed, descending. “I won’t have _shouting_ in the library!”

“I’m sorry, Madame Pince,” Lily said. “I was tutoring Tim like every Tuesday when Fawley came in, stomping and joking and making it impossible for us to work.”

“We—” Avery started.

“I don’t want to hear it!” Pince whispered. “Out! This library is for those who know how to use it _properly_! Out! This instant!” Fawley’s lip curled, but he jerked his head at Avery, and the two of them stalked from the library. Pince gave Lily a sharp, lingering look in warning, and bustled off, going to shush at a table of younger, giggling girls.

“I’m sorry about that.” Lily looked at Tim. “Some people don’t like me very much.”

“I like you,” Tim replied, earnest. “I think you’re nice.”

Lily smiled, and re-opened the book. “I think you’re nice, too, Tim. Now let’s see. Right. Laws of temperature. We were on . . . number six, I think? Basically, this is explaining why some potions need to stay heated after they’re brewed. Let’s see if I can simplify it.”

\---

She thought that everything was perfect with James. She’d never been so happy, so wrapped up in something, or someone. Naturally, that had to come to an end.

It happened in the middle of a snog.

They’d gotten to the point where snogging gave way easily to heavy petting, to greedy, wandering hands that dove under clothes, and slid up thighs, relishing in the feel of warm, naked skin. James was pressing a line of hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck, and his palm was warm on her ribs, having inched under her shirt, and up. She snuck her hands  under the back of his shirt, tugging it up, and he grinned, and rose; he planted a quick, messy kiss on her mouth, and tugged his shirt over his head, tossing it, and leaning in to kiss her again.

She gasped.

His stomach was marbled with fading purple bruises.

His grin fell off. He sat back on his heels, pushing a hand through his hair. “Lily—”

She was horrified, and scrambled to sit up. “What’s that from?” It looked like the bruises were older, but they were nasty, and lingering; they curled around his side, and there were a couple of long, wide scrapes in them that were scabbing, and must’ve hurt badly.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, and it—”

“It looks like you were _attacked._ ”

“I wasn’t!” He managed to pull her gaze up from the bruises. “I—fell down the stairs.”

She blinked.

“Seriously,” he said. “I was, ah, with Sirius, and we were on the stairs by that painting of the duck, you know, and they just —they moved suddenly. It took me by surprise, and I lost my balance, and fell; that’s all. It wasn’t a big deal. It actually looks worse than it is.”

“You didn’t _trip_ on _the stairs_ ,” she said, incredulous.

“I did.”

“How come I didn’t know about it then?”

“It wasn’t that big a deal,” he said. “I got patched up, and there wasn’t a reason to—”

Her concern was giving way to anger, and she cut him off. “You would have nursed that for everything it was worth,” she retorted. He was _lying_ to her. “I would have been waiting on you, feeding you biscuits while you lay in the hospital wing and lamented how you’d never walk again.”

He laughed, but it was high-pitched, and humorless. “I’m not _that_ bad.”

She narrowed her eyes. “James.”

“Let it go, Lily,” he said, and his voice had an edge. “I’m fine."

“Don’t take that tone with me,” she snapped. “You’re _lying_ to me. You don’t get to take a tone with me.”

He shook his head in disbelief, and it made her angrier. “You know, I don’t have to tell you _everything_. I’m allowed to have things in my life that aren’t about my girlfriend.”

“You’re allowed to keep it a secret when you’re _attacked_?”

“I wasn’t attacked!”

“Then what the hell happened to you?!”

He was silent.

“You really aren’t going to tell me what happened?” she asked, searching his face. It had turned to stone. “Was the plan to let the bruises fade away, and never tell me? You just lost your head in the middle of a snog, and forgot?” His lips tightened, and she was right. “Tell me what happened, James. You don’t get to keep secrets about something like this.”

“It doesn’t matter what happened,” he said. “I’m _fine_.”

She stared at him. “Fine,” she said. “You know what? Fine.” She pushed off the bed.

“Lily—”

“You’re right.” She was done with this conversation. He didn’t get to keep secrets from her, lie to cover it up, then act like _she_ was the one doing something wrong. “I should know that your life isn’t my business, and I shouldn’t care when you get hurt.” She tugged on her shoes.

“Why is it always about you?” he snapped. “Why are you _always_ right, and I’m _always_ wrong?”

She grabbed her jumper, and stalked out, refusing to look at him.

He didn’t try to stop her, or follow after her.

She was fuming, and ended up dragging her friends out of the library so that she could tell them what had happened without getting angrily shushed by Madame Pince.

“What could have happened that he wouldn’t want you to know?” Emmeline asked.

“I don’t know!”

She expected him to want to talk at dinner that night, but he didn’t.

He ignored her.

He didn’t try talking to her in the morning, or to corner her in class in the afternoon.

They’d broken up. She sat on Marlene’s bed, clutching Marlene’s pillow to her chest, and _they’d broken up_. “He’d rather finish with me than tell me what happened to him,” she said. She was crying, and she hated that she was crying, but she couldn’t make herself stop. Was this really why they broke up? It couldn’t be. It was so stupid, so unbelievable.

“He’ll regret it,” Marlene said. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“Why don’t _you_ talk to _him_?” Emmeline said, soft.

“I don’t have anything to say to him!” Lily exclaimed, and Marlene nodded, and stroked Lily’s hair.

Marlene got a week of detention after she used the Bat Bogey Hex on James.

Everyone at Hogwarts knew about their break up after that.

“I heard Potter finished with you, Evans,” Mulciber said, raising his voice to get her attention.

She ignored him.

But it was impossible to miss his slow, lecherous grin. “I guess he knew you weren’t good for much,” he said, smirking, “and he got from you what you were good for.”

“If you’re going to smile like that, please do something about your breath,” she said, and passed him.

She heard from Deirdre at dinner what happened after; it was apparently the talk of the school how James had gotten in Mulciber’s face about something, and whatever Mulciber replied had set James off; he’d punched Mulciber square in the face. “He broke Mulciber’s nose,” Deirdre said, wide-eyed. “Sinistra took thirty points from Gryffindor.”

It was about her, of course. Lily knew it was about her. But it didn’t change things.

She had patrol with Remus that night.

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes.

He kept looking at her, though; she could feel his gaze on her face, though she wouldn’t look at him. He sighed, and started. “James has been sulking about your fight.”

“I don’t want to talk about James.”

“He refuses to apologize to you,” Remus continued, “because he claims that you always get your way, telling him off, and storming out, and he won’t let you win this time.”

“He won’t let me _win_ this time?” she said, stopping to stare at Remus.

“He’s miserable.”

“If he’s miserable, then why is he refusing to talk to me? Why’s he finished with me?”

“He hasn’t finished with you.”

She scoffed, and shook her head, walking on without him.

“Look, you’ve been friends with him for years,” Remus said. “You know how he is; you know he isn’t any good at fighting with people. He doesn’t like it, so he just clams up.”

“He should be able to fight with me,” Lily replied. “He should be able to _talk_ to me.”

“Lily.”

“Instead, he’d rather keep secrets from me.”

“He isn’t—”

She stopped, and faced him. “You know what happened to him, don’t you?” She glared. “How he got those bruises?”

There was a twitch in his jaw. “Yes.”

“But I don’t get to know. We’ve been friends for years, but I’m not a—what is it you call yourselves? _Marauders_? I’m just some old playmate he likes to snog, so why should—”

“I threw him against a tree.”

“What?”

“That’s what happened,” Remus said, swallowing. “I threw him against a tree.”

She frowned. “You . . . _threw him against a tree_?”

“I got set off,” he went on. “I don’t remember why. I’m easy to set off. _I_ attacked him.”

“You—”

“That’s the thing, Lily,” Remus said. “He’s right; he _hasn’t_ don’t anything wrong. He isn’t keeping his secret from you. He’s keeping _my_ secret from you, because I asked him to.”

She stared. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth.”

“You don’t have that kind of strength,” she said, incredulous, “and, besides, you aren’t _violent_.”

“I am when it’s—” He sighed, and straightened. “I am when it’s a full moon.”

She shook her head. “I don’t—”

“I’m a werewolf.”

She gaped. “No, you aren’t. That’s—how could you be a—werewolf?”

“I was bit when I was a kid.”

“You—you’re really serious,” she said, staring at him.

He started to explain, and he explained it all. How he was bitten on purpose, how it was a punishment. How Dumbledore wanted him to come to Hogwarts anyway, and he was what haunted the Shrieking Shack. How his friends figured it out, and spent years working on a way to help him, to be with him when he transformed so that he wouldn’t be by himself. How they’d become Animagi. “You can be disgusted with me,” he said, “but, _please_ , don’t tell anyone. Please. I know it’s awful that I’m here, and risking everyone’s safety. I know. But if you tell anyone what I’ve told you, I won’t just get sent away. They will, too. They aren’t registered; they did it all illegally. Not even Dumbledore knows. You can’t tell anyone.” He stared at her, pale and open and pleading.

She was speechless. “You—” She shook her head.

“Now you know,” he said.

She hugged him.

He was startled, and stood stiffly against her for a moment, but she wrapped her arms around him and held on tight, and, after a moment, he responded. He hugged her.

“I promise I won’t tell,” she said, drawing away enough to look at him. “I’d never.”

He nodded.

“But you know Dumbledore _was_ right to let you come here? That you belong here just as much as anybody, and it’s not—disgusting, or whatever it is you were going on about?”

He gave her a small, soft smile. “I know.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do,” he said, and his smile was a little wider, a little more relaxed.

They finished their patrol.

It was late by the time they made it back to the tower. She gave him another hug, and headed up to her dormitory, head still swimming with questions. Remus was a werewolf, and James, Sirius, and Peter were seventeen-year-old, unregistered Animagi. It was unfathomable. But, well, it explained a lot, didn’t it? She needed to talk to James, but it was late, and she was tired. They’d talk later. She got ready for bed as quietly as possible.

She couldn’t sleep, though.

She lay in bed for half an hour, staring at the canopy, and she had to talk to him.

Things were quiet in his dormitory, too. Remus must’ve fallen asleep already. She tripped on a pair of trousers, and climbed into James’s bed, drawing the curtains. He was sleeping on his stomach with the sheets at his feet, half-hugging his pillow, and drooling.

She touched his back. “James.”

He made a snuffling, sleepy noise, and sighed, then turned in his sleep.

“James.”

He frowned, and rubbed at his eyes, blinked. He woke up. “Lily?” He shifted up onto his elbows, frowning at her. “Have you come to murder me in my sleep?” he asked, sour.

“I came to say I’m sorry.”

He was quiet, breathing still heavy with sleep. “I’m sorry, too.”

She bit her lip. “Remus told me what the bruises were from,” she continued. “I’m really glad he did, but he shouldn’t have had to, and I feel kind of bad for forcing it out.”

James sighed, sitting up. “It’s fine. I would’ve done the same if I were you.”

“You’re really an Animagus?”

He looked at her, and nodded. “Yeah.”

“That’s kind of amazing, James,” she said. “That you’re capable of it to begin with, _and_ that you did it _for_ Remus, for your friend.” She smiled. “You’re a really good friend."

“You’re alright with it then?” he asked. “You don’t think it’s reckless?”

“Oh, well, it _is_ reckless,” she said. “It’s _insanely_ reckless. But you’ve always been very good at reckless. Who I am to stand in the way of that?”

He smiled.

“So.” She shrugged. “Can we forget about this whole stupid fight?”

“Yes.”

She nodded. “Good.”

He kissed her. His breath was sour with sleep, but he was warm, and he was James, and she curled into his side, sighing.

“I should get back to my dorm before anyone realizes I’m not there,” she said.

“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed, only to snake his arms suddenly over her waist, and press her down into the bed, trapping her, and making her laugh. “Nope.” He kissed her. “Stay.”

She combed her hands through his hair. “You taste gross.”

He reared up his head to look at her, affronted. “You climb into _my_ bed in the middle of the night, and insult _my_ breath?” he started. She grinned. “Just for that, I’m going to breathe on your face,” he said, and she squealed when he leaned in, breathing out noisily.

She shoved at his face, laughing.

She stayed the night.

In the morning, she woke to the sound of somebody in the shower, and low, tired voices. She was warm, and in a bed that wasn’t her own. She was in James’s bed, she remembered. He was lying at her back, snoring.

Today was the beginning of sixth year exams. She smiled. She couldn’t think of a better way to wake up.

\---

It was a cool, breezy summer that year. She spent a lot of time in her patch of the garden at home. Professor Sprout had been thrilled when Lily had asked her about gardening magical plants, and had gone overboard in bestowing seeds, supplies, and advice on Lily.

She spent a lot of the summer with James, too, of course, and with Sirius.

Sirius was living with him, which meant this was the summer that she got to know Sirius. She had gone to school with him for years, and knew him some through James, obviously, but she’d never really spent any time with him. She liked him. It turned out he was clever, and well-read, was the kind of person who was just interesting to talk to.

He was fun, too, was always up for something new, and exciting.

They went into London a lot just because, and explored, eating cheaply, and wandering aimlessly. They went to a couple of concerts, and to several Quidditch matches.

They spent a lot of the time just lazing about, too.

Lily worked in her garden while they boys sat in the grass, smoking, and goofing off.

Sirius was cautious with her at first; she could tell. He was happy to spend time with her, to joke around with her, and to call her a friend. She knew he liked her. But there were things he didn’t want to share with her, and she suspected that included a bit of himself.

That changed over the summer, too.

They got too drunk one night, and ended up in the loo of a bar in London, hurling.

James had his head halfway down a toilet when Sirius lolled his head against the wall, and said to nobody in particular, “I hate him.”

“Who?” Lily asked, unconcerned, and taking a drag of a ciggy. It settled her stomach.

“Reg,” he said.

“Do I know a Reg?”

Sirius smiled, but it wasn’t a smile. “He’s my brother. Or he used to be. He picked them.” He looked at Lily, and swallowed. “He always got mad at me for making him pick. I don’t know why I kept doing it, pushing him, kept thinking maybe he’d finally pick me.”

James groaned, and made a gross hacking noise.

Sirius looked away.

Lily stubbed her cigarette on the floor, and shifted so that she was closer, could touch his knee. His eyes were wet. Her head was ruined with rum, but she could say what she felt at least. “I pick you,” she said. He looked at her. “Jamie picks you. We pick you so much.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, that didn’t make any sense. I’m trying to say—”

His face contorted with tears, and she surged in, catching his shoulders before he folded in on himself.

She hugged his head to her chest, and his body shook with sobs. She tried to remember what Petunia had told her when they were younger, and she’d comforted Lily though stupid nightmares. Did Petunia even remember that Lily existed at this point? “Hush,” she breathed, tearing up, too, and holding him tighter. “I’ve got you. Hush, lovey.” She pressed her nose to the top of his head, and murmured it again. “I pick you, Paddyfoot.”

He kept on crying, and she kept on rocking him.

The door swung open. “Oh!”

“Sod off!” Lily exclaimed, glaring at the intruder. “Can’t you see we’re having a _day_?”

Helpfully, James vomited again.

In the morning, things were rough. James had lost the night, and it was only left in pieces to Lily. Sirius remembered.

After that night, he was different with her. He trusted her. When he was telling James about his family, about his parents, or his cousins, or his brother, about the scars that crisscrossed his back, he didn’t go quiet as soon as Lily walked in. Now he told her, too.

She was glad.

Summer went on; it got even hotter out, even muggier.

By the lake at James’s house, she watched them transform. It was amazing to see, and there was something hilariously unbelievable about looking at a stag, having it stare calmly back, and knowing it was James who was meeting her gaze, who had hooves, and antlers, and _fur_.

“Can you understand what I’m saying to you?” she asked.

He nodded.

It was one of the strangest things she’d ever seen. “Can you talk?”

He shook his head, then butted his nose against her arm, and she reached up, petting him.

Sirius saw, and bounded up, pushing his nose into Lily’s hand, and whining. She laughed, and scratched him behind the ears. Irritated at the interruption, James bit Sirius, and Sirius yelped, and barked, and stuck his butt up, shaking it wildly; the two of them took off running across the yard.

She lay on her back, closing her eyes.

She didn’t know how long it was before something blocked her sunshine, and she sighed, opening her eyes in time to see James flop onto the ground beside her. He was human.

“Padfoot is chasing a squirrel.”

She smiled. “Do you think he’ll care if I strip to my pants for a swim?”

“Nope.”

She pushed up on her elbows, looking at him. “I can’t believe you turn into a deer.”

“I love you.”

She stared, feeling the start of a smile. “What?”

“I love you,” he said. “Just—I wanted to tell you.” He shrugged.

“I love you, too.”

“Yeah?”

She sat up, and reached for him, kissing him, and pressing her forehead to his. “Yes.”

“Good.”

She laughed. “Come on.” She pushed to her feet, and held out her hand.

The water was cold, and kind of perfect. Lily dove to the bottom just because, and swam up again, breaking the surface, and grinning at James. He tugged her to him, and she hugged his neck, wrapping her legs around his waist. She couldn’t stop smiling, looking at him.

He was grinning, too, was bright-eyed, and smug. “What?” she said.

“You love me.”

She shook her head, and he slid his hands up the backs of her thighs, cupping her ass.

“You _love_ me,” he repeated, and he was ridiculous.

She kissed him.

Sirius chose that moment to sprint to them, barking wildly before transforming mid-stride, and cannonballing into the lake, sending a wall of water at them.

Things weren’t perfect.

There were sightings of Voldemort, and his followers were responsible for attacks almost weekly; people were turning up dead with increasing, terrifying regularity. Lily overheard her auntie talking with Mrs. Potter about elections, and a minister who’d fight. Things were growing truly chaotic in the Ministry, in the whole Wizarding world.

But in the safety of James’s backyard that summer, Lily was happy, and in love, and the darkness that was creeping in was a far away nightmare.

\---

It was early in their seventh year when James made a bet with Lily that he could get into her dormitory.

He tried to hover his way up the stairs, and was sent flying away, landing on his arse. He tried a series of highly researched, highly complicated charms, and each of them backfired in increasingly hilarious, increasingly spectacular ways. He tried a couple of Potions, but the stairway wasn’t fooled, and expelled him quickly every single time.

She was laughing so hard at him that she was late for tea with her auntie on Sunday.

“Give it up,” she said.

“Never.”

He was quiet about it for a few days, and she assumed that he was cooking up something in secret. He was. She stayed up studying on Monday, and went to her dormitory in the middle of the afternoon on Tuesday to take a nap, expecting to find a quiet, empty dorm.

“Lily!”

She screamed.

He was lying on her bed, propped up on his elbow. “I know.” He grinned. “I’m brilliant.”

“How did you get in here?” she exclaimed.

“I _could_ tell you, but it would be way more fun not to tell you. By the way, this place is _nice_. What’s that smell? Is that what sunshine smells like? And the loo? _Sparkling_.”

“I got yelled at yesterday for getting toothpaste stains in the sink.”

He sighed. “We have _got_ to do something about that stick up Deirdre’s butt.”

She shook her head. “I can’t _believe_ you got in here.”

“You owe me a dozen chocolate frogs.”

She climbed onto the bed beside him, stretching out. “You really aren’t going to tell me how you got in here?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t want to brag about it?” She raised her eyebrows.

“I can do that, and keep my secret.” He rolled onto his side, and closer to her, reached out to tug on the end of her hair. “You know what else I can do? Snog you in your bed.”

She smiled. “That’s why you wanted to get in here, isn’t it?”

“That, and you told me I couldn’t.”

“I need to take a nap.”

“I’m in your bed!” he cried. “This opportunity is a once in a lifetime!”

She laughed. “I was up _all night_ studying for Slughorn’s exam!” she said. “I _need_ a nap. I told you that at breakfast this morning when you were plotting this surprise of yours!”

He smacked a kiss to her lips. “Five minutes,” he said, wiggling five fingers at her.

“Three.”

“Deal.” He took off his glasses, and kissed her, muffling her laughter.

It figured that he’d get his way with this, too, that they’d get caught up in kissing, and she’d forget about her nap.

He kissed his way down her neck, unbuttoning the top of her shirt to press kisses lower. She pushed him off her, sitting up slightly to tug off her blouse without bothering to unbutton it, and he yanked off his shirt, too, and surged in to kiss her again, skating his hands up her back, and finding the fastening of her bra, trailing his kisses to her breasts.

She arched into his mouth, curling her fingers in his hair.

They’d done this before, stripping off their clothes piece by piece with hasty, eager hands.

She tugged on his hair, pulling him up to kiss her mouth, and he did, then sat up, and she started to undo the fastening on her skirt while he rolled onto his back to take off his trousers. He was faster, and was tugging off her shoes next, and reaching for her skirt, for her tights, helping her get them off. She met his gaze, and laughed; she always got shaky with excitement at this point, laughing and gasping and exchanging wet, rushed kisses with him. He crawled up her, dropping hot, sucking kisses to her nipple, and her shoulder, and her mouth. She loved that he kissed her everywhere he could, that it was like he couldn’t stop himself, like he was desperate to kiss every single inch of her skin.

There was still a part of her that even when she was excited, felt slightly shy without clothes on. Vulnerable.

But when he covered her in kisses, she forgot to be shy.

She pushed her hand into his boxers, and his mouth went slightly slack.

She’d jerked him off before, loving how deep his voice got, and he’d returned the favor; she’d come for the very first time with his hand in her pants, with his finger in her, and his thumb on her clit.

“You want me to?” she asked, stroking him.

He kissed her, and his hand skated down her stomach, moving between her legs. “Let me do you first.” He rubbed her over her underwear. “You know I’ll be useless after I go."

She nodded, releasing him.

He slipped his hand into her underwear, and she sucked in a breath, pulling her hands up to grapple at his back, and his shoulders, to bring him in closer for a sloppy kiss. She was half-senseless, and all he was doing was touching her. “You can—” She kissed him, digging her fingers into his shoulder. “You can take them off,” she panted. “If you want.”

“Yeah?”

She smiled.

He rose up slightly, and she helped him tug them off. She was naked. He kissed her, and touched her, and she closed her eyes. She told him when to do more of what, going off instinct. “More,” she breathed, and he knew just what she meant, applying more pressure. “Don’t—” She nodded. “Yeah. _Yes._ Wait, higher up. There—” She arched off the bed. He listened, and curled his finger, and got her off, swallowing her gasps when she came.

She opened her eyes.

He was grinning, and he leaned in, kissed her. She could feel him hard against her thigh. “Good?” he said.

“Brilliant.”

He was bright-eyed, and pink-cheeked, and she loved him. She really, really loved him, had never been this happy before. “I can jerk you off,” she said, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “Or we could—” She bit her lip, and smiled. “You want to have sex?”

He blinked. “You—” His eyes went wide. “You want to?”

“Yes.”

“You mean now?”

She laughed. “Yes. I’ve been thinking about it. Haven’t you?”

He nodded so quickly that she thought he might get whiplash, and she _adored_ him.

“I actually started taking the potion a few weeks ago,” she admitted. “It wasn’t even my idea.” She grinned. “My auntie brewed a batch for me this summer, and gave it to me.”

“Your—?”

She laughed at the look on his face. “She called it a precaution for _when the time comes_. It was accompanied by a stern, awkward talk on what’s appropriate boy behavior, and what I shouldn’t put up with. You’ll be happy to know that you haven’t done anything on her list of inappropriate boy behavior.” She smiled. “You are worthy of my affection.”

He kissed her. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“You’re supposed to say _I love you, too_.”

She smiled. “I love you, too.” She kissed him. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

“Yes.”

He surged in closer, kissing her again, and again, and when he drew away, it was like he had to yank himself away; he dropped a kiss on her breast, on her belly, and sat up at last, fumbling with his boxers. He got them off, and she opened her arms, drew him close again. His erection was warm where it pressed into her thigh, and it made excitement spark in her belly.

“You ready?” he asked, bright-eyed.

She nodded, and opened her legs up wider, allowing him to settle between them.

He bent over her. “Wait, I think—” He touched her thigh. “Push your legs up.” It was awkward, trying to find a position that worked, but she bent her knees, brought him closer still, and that worked; she hugged his neck, nuzzled his nose when he kissed her.

They were doing this.

“Tell me if it starts to hurt, alright?”

“Go on,” she told him. She gripped his shoulders when he started to push slowly into her. The angle was off, though, and it hurt. A lot. “Just— ” She tilted her hips, trying to fix it.

He paused, and his eyes searched her face. “Better?” he asked

“Yes.”

But it wasn’t, and she winced, and shook her head.

“What?”

She pushed at his chest. “Let me be on top,” she said. “I can do it better.”

He laughed, and pulled out, planting a kiss on her lips before rolling onto his back. She straddled his waist. He smiled, running his hands up her thighs, and gripping her hips.

She put a hand on his chest to keep her balance, and gripped his erection in the other, taking him slowly. This was better. She could feel herself stretching around him, opening, and it stole her breath, but it wasn’t really painful. He was sliding in like he was meant to. He held her gaze, and held her steady, and she sank onto him completely.

He was inside her.

She smiled, and he squeezed her hips in understanding. “I’m going to try— ” she said, and he nodded. She shifted, moving forward slightly, and back, experimenting. It felt good, felt _right._ He groaned, holding onto her hips tighter. “You look like you’re constipated,” she breathed, amused.

“I’m concentrating!”

She laughed. “On what? I’m the one being impaled—”

“Well, don’t call it _that_.”

“—and the one doing all the work!”

“Cover your tits,” he panted. “I won’t last if I can see your tits.”

She couldn’t help laughing at that, too, and she began to move in earnest. He moved, too, and it was awkward, and uncoordinated, and they couldn’t seem to get it right, but she didn’t really care. They’d figured it out eventually, and now? Something was building in her, deep and raw and sweet, and the more she moved, the better it felt. It didn’t become more this time, though; in the end, he couldn’t last very long, and he thrust up into her suddenly, swearing, and she could feel it, could feel him, throbbing in her, coming in her.

He went soft inside her, and she moved off him carefully, falling onto her side.

Her thighs were sticky with sweat, and with him, and she could still feel him inside her. She smiled at the canopy of his bed, and felt the mattress shift when he turned to her.

“It wasn’t completely awful, was it?” he asked, red-cheeked.

She was so fucking in love with him. She kissed his cheek, and kissed him. “Nope.”

“I’ll get better,” he said, earnest, and kissed her again. “I promise.”

“You’re perfect,” she told him, and she’d never meant anything so much in her life.

That was when the door to the dormitory opened suddenly, and, in the split-second while it happened, Lily had time for her eyes to go wide, and to look at James in a panic.

Deirdre sighed, and saw. “Oh!” she yelped, and spun to face the wall.

They scrambled up, reaching for their clothes. “Deir—”

“It’s three in the afternoon!” Deirdre shrieked. “You couldn’t have drawn the curtains on your bed, for Merlin’s sake? Or done this in _his_ dorm? How’d he even get in here?!”

The moment James was dressed, he was chased from the dormitory.

Lily got the stinkeye from Deirdre for the rest of the night. It was worth it.

She told her friends about it after dinner, making a point to draw the curtains on her bed this time, and speaking in whispers. Eventually, they went to sleep, and she snuck out.

Sirius was awake, and he waggled his eyebrows at her.

She flipped him off.

James was expecting her. “Saw you on your way,” he said, waving the map at her.

“Stalker,” she said, and kissed him.

She was sore, and they didn’t have sex again that night, but they kissed, and cuddled, and they tried it again the very next day, and again, and again. James was right; he got better at it. They both did.

\---

They had another new professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, and she was _intense_. She was short, plump, and rosy-cheeked, snapped half of what she said, and yelled the rest, and seemed to think an attacker was lying in wait around every corner.

She was the first to teach them about the three Unforgiveable Curses.

“Which is the worst?” she demanded.

For a moment, nobody gave an answer. She waited. Finally, Peter raised his hand. She looked at him, narrowing her eyes. “Um, wouldn’t it be . . . the Killing Curse?”

“Wrong!”

“Isn’t that kind of a matter of a matter of opinion?” Marlene whispered.

“ _Wrong_!” yelled their professor. “To be _controlled_ is the worst by far. If you’re under my control, I can cause you to hurt yourself, and to kill yourself. I can do it all. There isn’t a spell, potion, or object that can shield you from it. Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is selling you something! Now! How do you know if someone is under it?”

One of the Hufflepuff boys raised his hand, and her eyes darted to him, pinned him. “You ask the person a question that only that person would know the answer to,” he said.

“Wrong!” she cried. “This isn’t Polyjuice! Even if you don’t get to use your brain under the spell, you still have it! You still know the answers to every single question you’re asked! If I put you under the Imperius Curse, what’s to stop me from telling you to answer every question you’re asked correctly?” She glared, and when nobody gave an answer, yelled it. “Nothing!" she shouted. "There is _nothing_ to stop me from doing it, and nothing anyone can do to know for certain that you’re under somebody else’s control. _Nothing_! There are signs of course, but are they foolproof? NO!”

By the time the class was over, she’d made it clear that they couldn’t do anything but be afraid. In general, that was the theme of most of her lessons. Be afraid.

“Well, that was depressing,” Lily said.

“We are going to live short lives, and die brutal deaths,” Marlene said. “Be afraid.”

“I’ve got the answer,” James said. “Ready for me to blow your mind? We come up with a question. If you think I’m under the curse, ask me the question, and I’ll answer it _incorrectly_ to prove I’m not. If I answer it correctly, you’ll know I _am_. There. Sorted.”

“But what if the person who puts you under tells you to answer the question that you’re supposed to answer the way that you’re supposed to answer it?” Emmeline asked.

James frowned.

Lily patted him on the back. “You tried.”

He came to her later, though, when he was a sweaty, wind-swept mess from practice. “I figured out the question I’m going to ask you,” he announced, flopping onto the sofa.

“Mmm,” she said.

He squeezed her knee. “Lily.” He leaned into her, bowing a raspberry into her neck. She pushed at his face, laughing. “Pay attention to me!” he wheedled. She closed her book pointedly, and raised her eyebrows. He grinned. “I’m going to ask you what you love most. If you say flowers, I’ll know you’re lying, and you aren’t under the curse. Got it?”

She bit her lip. “What _do_ I love the most?”

“Me.”

“Obviously,” she said, amused.

He leaned his head on her shoulder. “But, of course, if you say that, I’ll know you’re under a curse.”

“Because why would I admit that unless I was under an evil, mind controlling curse?”

“Exactly,” he agreed.

She smiled, leaning her head on top of his. “You need a bath.”

“I think you smell nice, too.”

“Or we could go up to your dormitory, and fool around until dinner.”

“Sold.” He sprang to his feet, grabbing at her hand while she laughed, and pulling her to her feet. He smacked a wet, sloppy kiss to her cheek, and started for the stairs to his dormitory, dragging her behind him. He really _did_ smell. They might have to fool around in a bath, but, somehow, she doubted he’d have a problem with that.

\---

She was shopping for James’s Christmas present with Emmeline when it happened, when there was a sudden, strangled scream from the street, and Lily frowned, only to hear another shriek, and another. She rushed to the window with Emmy at her heels, and lost her breath at what she saw. Masked, hooded figures were everywhere in the street, and more were Apparating into sight by the second, and sending a volley of spells into the air.

Hogsmeade was under attack.

They were setting fire to the buildings, and sending people flying, lifting them suddenly into the air, and tossing them, stunning them, and cursing them, and _murdering_ them.

She watched it happen. She saw the burst of green, and heard Emmeline’s gasp of horror.

“Girls!” called the shopkeeper. She was a small, older woman, and she beckoned at them franticly, wide-eyed, and breathing hard, fast. “Quickly! We can hide in the back!”

Emmeline turned.

Lily surged to the door, ignoring Emmeline’s shout.

She burst into the street, waving her wand without even planning the spell that leapt from her wand. But it worked; a storm of wind collided with one of the attackers, stopping him. The woman on the ground at his feet scrambled up, and ran off, and Lily raised her wand, countering a curse, and trying to disarm the attacker, missing, and ducking a curse.

She Stunned him, breathed in sharply, and went flying, struck by a spell to her back.

She blacked out when she hit the ground, and was blinded with pain, only to be torn up again, and thrown, choking on a scream when she hit the ground again, and her arm twisted under her, and snapped. There was laughter, rising above the tide of screaming that was drowning the street. She was yanked up again, and thrown, was dizzy with pain.

Emmeline was suddenly at her side, blocking out the sun. “Lily—”

“I’m—”

“Can you stand?” Emmeline asked, breathless. “We have to—”

Lily nodded. Even the effort of trying to sit up jostled her arm, and stabbed her body with pain. She managed to get to her feet with Emmeline’s help, only to cry out in fresh new pain when she took a step. Her ankle was twisted, or worse; she couldn’t put weight on it.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Emmeline screamed.

It disarmed the attacker in front of them, and he was hit by a burst of purple from behind right after, flying, and blacking out. His mask was torn off, and Lily got to see his face.

It was Evan Rosier.

“EVANS!”

“Sirius,” she gasped. She tore her gaze from Rosier, and spotted him; he was sprinting across the street to them, and must have been the one to get Rosier in the back. He reached them, panting, and his gaze raked over Lily. “My ankle,” she gasped

Sirius didn’t wait for more; he scooped her up, and took off.

She thought she might faint from the pain in her arm.

The street was thick with smoke, with death. Aurors had arrived, and were fighting back, but it was impossible to see, to hear; the attackers were everywhere, and merciless.

Sirius led them into an alley between shops.

There was an old man’s body in the alley, spread-eagle, and staring unseeingly at the sky.

Dizzy, and sick with pain, Lily couldn’t take the sight. She threw up on herself.

Sirius kept going until they reached cluster of barrels. “Here,” he said. “This’ll do.” They hid between the barrels, pressing their back to the wall. “You alright?” Sirius asked, wiping the vomit off her chin with his sleeve, and glancing at her swollen, throbbing arm.

She nodded. “Fine.”

They could still hear the screaming on the street, though it was distant.

“Where are James, Remus, and Peter?” Emmeline asked.

“Prongs had detention,” Sirius said. “Moony got hurt, but we got him into a cellar behind the apothecary’s, and Worm stayed with him. They’re fine.” He nodded like he was talking to himself, and tightened his grip on Lily, still cradling her to his chest. “Marlie?”

“On a date,” Emmeline said, a tremor in her voice. “I don’t know.”

“Marlie’s quick,” Sirius said. “She’ll be fine.”

It was quiet.

“Don’t go to sleep,” Sirius barked, and Lily blinked. “I don’t know much about this stuff, but Prongs has taken a couple of Bludgers to the head over the years, and I know you aren’t supposed to sleep.” He swallowed. “I saw that little shit. I saw him—tossing you about. Just stay awake ‘til we get you to Pomfrey, alright?” He squeezed her. “Hear me?”

She nodded. She couldn’t stop seeing the flash of green, and the bodies they’d stumbled past. How many were there now in total? It had to be dozens. Murdered, and for what?

For a sociopath.

She closed her eyes, tearing up at the pain in her arm.

She didn’t recognize the spell that Emmeline whispered, but it struck Lily’s arm, and felt like icy water splashing over the break. Suddenly, the pain was gone. “Better?” Emmeline asked. “I don’t know how to fix broken bones, but I can numb them at least.”

“Thanks.”

“It was him, wasn’t it?” Emmeline asked. “It was—you know who.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, grim. “It was You-Know-Who, and his people. The _Death Eaters_.”

The noise of chaos in the street began to peter off.

Still. It seemed like hours before someone swept into the alleyway. Lily felt Sirius tense, but it was an Auror. “You alright?” she asked. “Come. It’s finished. You’re safe. “Hogwarts?” She gave them a portkey. “This’ll take you to the Hospital Wing there.”

“Her arm’s broken, and maybe her ankle, too,” Sirius said.

“That’s fine,” said the Auror. “Madame Pomfrey will fix her right up. Go on.”

Lily threw up again when they were dropped into the Hospital Wing, but Pomfrey was at her side immediately, getting her into a bed, and cleaning her up. It was crowded, and Lily heard Peter’s shout before Pomfrey began prodding at her arm, and Lily passed out.

She woke up to a much quieter, much darker wing.

Her head was thudding, and she blinked a couple of times, remembering where she was, and what had happened. She shifted her arm. It was healed. Her ankle seemed fine, too.

“Hi,” James said. He was sitting in the chair by her bed, holding her hand.

She squeezed his hand. “Hi.”

Her auntie was there, too, sitting by the bed.

Pomfrey saw that she was awake, and bustled over. “How are you feeling, Miss Evans?”

“Groggy.”

“That’s to be expected.” She looked in Lily’s eyes, and felt the back of her head. “Rest, and you’ll be as good as new very soon.” She hurried off in the direction of a groan.

“You gave us a scare, my dear,” Auntie said.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m told you ran into the street when it started.” It was a question.

Lily nodded. “I had to.” She saw it again: the sight of them in their masks, and hoods, and heavy black cloaks, marching down the street, and she saw the bodies, twisted, and bloodied, and staring up with glassy, terrified eyes. “I—Auntie, they—” The words got stuck in her throat. She pressed her lips together. It was useless, though. She began to cry.

“Lily,” said her auntie, soft, and she touched Lily’s cheek.

Lily shook her head.

“ _Dear_ ,” said her auntie, and she moved onto the bed, wrapping her arms around Lily.

“What’s wrong with them?” Lily gasped. “To—to do that, to kill people, and laugh about it?” She was shaking with sobs. “I heard it. I heard them. It was sport to them, it was—”

“I know, dear. _I know_.”

Eventually, Lily calmed, and let her breathing even out, leaning on her auntie.

James was still there, and he smiled softly when she caught his gaze.

She managed a smile, too. “Where’s Sirius, and—” She choked. “Marlene? Is she—?”

“Marlene’s fine,” he assured. “She was at the Three Broomsticks, and they were able to hide. Sirius is fine, too. He got you here, then got booted out. But he’s fine. I promise. He’s worried about you. Last I knew, he was heading to the kitchens to harass the House Elves to make you some of that shortcake you like.” He smiled.

She nodded. “Emmy?”

“Her, too. Everybody’s alright.”

He was wrong, though. It turned out that everybody wasn’t alright.

In the morning, the _Prophet_ reported that thirty-four people were killed. The list included a girl from Hogwarts. She was a curly-haired, chubby-cheeked Muggle-born in Ravenclaw, and she was thirteen. The rest of the year’s Hogsmeade visits were cancelled. Nobody complained.

\---

It was the very first time that Voldemort had targeted the regular magical world. His followers were always in the paper for their attacks on Muggles, and they’d gone after specific politicians, reporters, and the like who’d spoken out against him. They’d never done this, though. They’d never attacked innocent, unsuspecting people in such a terrifyingly large number, and for what? To frighten the world? To show what he was capable of?

People were truly afraid of him now, whispering about You-Know-Who.

Others were more brazen about agreeing with him.

She’d always known there were people at Hogwarts who thought less of her because of her parents, her blood. And there had always been bullies who’d dared to say it aloud.

Now, though?

People were fearless when it came to hating her, and telling her as much to her face.

Seraphina Rowle raised her hand in the middle of a monthly prefect meeting that Lily was in charge of to tell Lily that, actually, she did have an issue with Lily’s proposed patrolling scheduled, because she didn’t see the point in listening to a Mudblood’s idea.

“I’m sorry,” Lily said. “I must not have been clear. When I asked for people’s input on the schedule, I was referring to people who actually have worthwhile things to say.”

Rowle smiled falsely, and Lily carried on with the meeting.

She wasn’t going to hide from them, from their taunts, or their threats. She’d never, ever hide again. If they wanted a fight, she’d give it to them.

\---

Slughorn had a final Slug Club party at the end of the year, inviting a host of politicians, celebrities, and bigwigs to mingle for a night with his favorite, most talented students. “To celebrate your graduation,” he’d declared, “and, of course, to give you the opportunity to make important contacts.” Then he’d winked.

Lily didn’t love these parties, but she did like the food.

Besides, the parties were bearable when she got to do the rounds with James at her side.

“Lily, my girl!” exclaimed Slughorn. “Come, come. I want you to meet Daniel Taliaferro, and his wife, Amaryllis. Daniel is the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation.” He ushered her to a well-dressed, gray-haired couple. “Daniel, Amaryllis, may I introduce Miss Lily Evans, and, of course, you know our James Potter.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Taliaferro said, smiling in greeting. “I adore Euphemia.”

“She’s told us you haven’t yet decided on your plans for after graduation,” Mr. Taliaferro said. “If you’re interested, I might know someone who could get you a job with the Department of Magical Transportation.” He grinned, and Slughorn laughed, and clapped him on the back.

“I’ll leave you all to talk, shall I?” he said, and he bustled off.

“I believe Euphemia’s told us about you, too, Lily,” Mrs. Taliaferro said. “She’s very fond of you.”

“I’m very fond of her, too,” Lily said.

“That’s how I know the name!” Mr. Taliaferro exclaimed. “You’re Minerva’s ward! I’ve heard what a bright girl you are, Miss Evans.” He smiled. “Horace has told me before that you’re one of the most gifted students he’s had in years—and a Muggle-born, too!”

“Is that relevant?” James asked, sudden and sharp.

Mr. Taliaferro was startled, and stared. “I . . . beg your pardon?”

“Is it relevant that her parents were Muggles?” James said, unblinking. “I mean, I don’t really see how. Could you explain it to me? Unless you mean to say that you had everything simply handed to you because of who your parents were, so you’re impressed at how hard she works, and how she’s overcome a lot of prejudice from old, rich Purebloods who think their heritage makes them superior human beings. Was that it?”

It was silent.

“I was giving your young lady a _compliment_ , Mr. Potter,” Mr. Taliaferro said coldly, “and I happened to make an _observation_.”

“Right,” James said, and his smile was humorless. “My mistake.”

There was long, awful beat before Mrs. Taliaferro said brightly, “ah, there’s the shrimp!” and tugged at her husband’s arm, giving a polite, practiced smile. “Do excuse us.”

Alone with Lily, James shook his head.

“Careful,” Lily said. “You’re going to ruin your chances at _making important contacts_.”

He scoffed.

She stepped in closer, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I love you.”

He blinked, then his face broke into a grin.

“Come on,” she said. “I think I’ve had enough of Slughorn’s rich, important friends.” She paused. She had a job for next year, or, well, she had an apprenticeship at the apothecary’s shop in Diagon Alley. “Unless you want to stay,” she added, “and try to get a job for next year, because I can stay with you—”

“Nope,” he said. “You go first; I’ll be right behind you.”

She kissed him. “Steal me a plate of those chocolate caramel bonbons, please.”

They took the plate to the empty Quidditch pitch, sitting in the middle of the field. Lily made up stories about the stars, and when James kissed her, he tasted like chocolate caramel bonbons. “You know, you can’t have sex on a broomstick,” he murmured, trailing kisses along the column of her throat. “But want to know what the next best thing is?”

She grinned. “You’re talking about a public Quidditch pitch, and with a Muggle-born, too!”

“Fuck him,” James said.

“No, love,” Lily said, pushing her fingers into his hair. “Fuck _me_.”

It turned out the next best thing was him pushing up the skirt of her dress in the middle of the quiet Quidditch pitch, tugging her panties to her knees, and fucking her with his tongue, making her gasp to the white pinprick stars until she’d come at the mercy of his mouth.

\---

Lily had one last cup of tea in her aunt’s office the morning before graduation. “It doesn’t feel like this is really it,” she said, “like this is really _the end_. In my head, I’ll be right back here in September. But I won’t be.” She shook her head. “I’m finished with school.”

It was strange. She was excited to graduate, to move to London with her friends, and start her apprenticeship, but. Still.

“You could always come back, you know,” Auntie said, “and teach.”

“Teach?” Lily raised her eyebrows. “I couldn’t.”

“You underestimate yourself,” Auntie replied. She set her cup down, and paused. “You are very gifted, Lily. You are bright, and kind, and you know what you believe in.”

“I believe in chocolate, and in flowers, and that Transfiguration is a sham on society.”

“I’m trying to tell you that I’m very proud of you, my dear,” Auntie said.

Lily bit her lip.

“I’ve always been attached to you, of course,” Auntie continued, “but the woman you’ve grown into has . . . made me proud—” She smiled. “Proud to say that you’re mine.”

“I’m proud, too,” Lily said, soft. “I’ve always wanted to be like you, you know.”

Auntie smiled.

“Since I’m so brilliant, does this mean you might be willing to let me dip my biscuits in my tea this one time?” She grinned.

Auntie snorted, and waved a hand. “Go on.”

They finished their tea, and Lily went to meet her friends for lunch. They graduated that afternoon, accepting their diplomas from Dumbledore under a gray, overcast June sky. Her auntie rose to her feet when Lily accepted her diploma, clapping even louder than James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter were cheering, and allowing Lily to see her black, pointed hat with a ghastly-looking, purple-feathered bird named Tom sitting on the brim.


	3. Chapter 3

She woke at a noise, but the room was dark, and she was sleepy, and she rolled onto her side, burrowing into a pillow. There were voices, but she ignored the buzz of them, and she was nearly asleep again when the door banged open, flooding the bedroom with light.

“ _Lily_!” Emmeline yelled.

“Shh!” James shouted. “She’s sleeping!”

Lily shifted, and sat up, blinking at the onslaught of light from the hallway. “James?”

“Here I am!”

“Yes,” Emmeline hissed. “Here is James. Your drunk, _infantile_ boyfriend. In our flat. That he just BROKE INTO—at _three in the morning_!”

Lily sighed.

“I had to break in,” James said, putout. His eyes were glassy with alcohol. “She locked the door.”

“You don’t _live_ here.”

“But you _locked_ the _door_ ,” he repeated. “On _me_!”

“Lily,” Emmeline started, voice on the edge of a scream.

“Go to bed, Emmy,” Lily said. “I’ve got him.”

“I swear, you need to start going over to his flat, or I will _literally_ kill him. I’ll do it! I will!”

“You _locked_ the _door_.”

Lily bit her lip, tapering a smile. “C’mere, Jamie. Leave Emmeline alone.”

James surged forward, and dropped onto the edge of the bed, bouncing on the mattress. He took off his shoes, and his shirt, and when he flopped onto his back to lift his hips, and tug off his trousers, Emmeline huffed, and turned away from him. “I mean it, Lily!” she exclaimed. “Do something about him!” She left, and slammed the door shut after her.

It was dark again, and Lily scooted to give James room. He kicked his trousers off, and climbed up the bed, collapsing so close to her that he was actually half on top of her.

“You had to break in?” she asked.

“She locked the door!”

“Well, it is three in the morning, and a flat in the middle of a major Muggle city.”

“No!”

She smiled. “No, it isn’t three in the morning, or, no, we aren’t in a major Muggle city?”

“No,” he said, “no, no, no. She _locked_ the _door—_ on ME!”

She laughed, running a hand through his hair. “How drunk are you?”

“I don’t mean a key, Lily,” he said. “She used magic! _Magic_ , Lily! I couldn’t use magic to open it, see? ‘Cause she’s supposed to lock it with a key, so I use magic to open it. _Alohomora_! But she used magic today, so I couldn’t! She locked the door, Lily! _On me_!”

“I get it,” she said.

“I thought she liked me,” he added, quieter, and petulant.

“She does.”

He cuddled in closer to her, resting his cheek on the top of her chest, and snaking a hand under her nightgown so that he was half-hugging her bare stomach. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Really,” Lily said. “She does.”

“She doesn’t like when I come over.”

“She doesn’t like when you come over drunk at three in the morning, and make a bunch of noise. She likes when you bring dinner, or come over, you know, in the daytime.”

He hummed. “You should just move in with me. Oi!” He lifted his head. “You _should_!”

She held in her laughter. “I love you, and I love your friends, but I don’t particularly want to live with them. Boys in packs are gross. I know, because I’ve been to your flat. Besides, I like living with my friends. If I lived with you, I’d be left by myself until you lot got home at three in the morning.”

“You could come out with us!”

“Tempting,” she said. “Unfortunately, I have to be at the shop at six.”

He pouted, lying back down, and she stroked his hair. “I don’t like sleeping by myself,” he grumbled.

She smiled. “I’m sure Sirius would love to cuddle with you whenever you felt like it.”

“He doesn’t smell as good as you.”

“If you’d just make him take a bath once in a while, we could fix that.”

“Nope,” James said, turning his face to kiss the top of her breast. “It has to be you.” He sighed. “You know you’ve got the most sweet-smelling skin, and sweet-smelling hair? Everything about you is sweet-smelling.” He was drunk, and rambling, and she was going to burst into laughter. “Merlin, you don’t even _know_ ,” he said. “Back before, my hands used to shake when you were close, because I wanted so badly to touch you, to see if you felt as good as you smelled.”

“Before?”

“ _Before_ ,” he repeated. “It was awful, Lily. It was the worst torture in the world, seeing you, and talking to you, and just _loving_ you, and never being able to _touch_ you.”

“Well, now you can,” she told him, feeling soft inside. “I’m here, love. I’m yours.”

“I know,” he said. He paused. “ _You_ wouldn’t lock the door on me.”

She laughed. “Go to sleep. We’ll worry about which doors are locked in the morning, alright?” He hummed, and sighed, and she really, really loved him.

\---

Peter got a job at Gringotts, and Lily had lunch with him a lot. They went out to eat once in a while, but often he’d come to her, and they’d eat in the back of the apothecary’s.

She liked Peter. He was agreeable, and easy to talk to.

He was showing her the way to crack a hard boiled egg perfectly when the voices in the shop grew loud, and sharp. Lily frowned. She was certain Mr. Mueller could handle whatever it was, but she couldn’t help her curiosity, her concern. Then there was a crash.

Lily pushed to her feet, snatching up her wand. Peter was right at her heels.

She opened the door to the front, and Mr. Mueller went flying into the row of shelves that lined the wall behind the counter. Half a dozen hooded, masked Death Eaters were crowded into the shop, and Lily met the eyes of one before Peter yanked her suddenly to the ground, and the curse hit the wall above her head, leaving a mark.

They were behind a row of stacked pewter cauldrons, but they wouldn’t stay hidden for long.

“Take him,” snarled a woman.

“We don’t have time for this,” replied a man. “We have what we came for!”

Peter leapt up, firing a curse, and ducked again before another spell scorched the wall, and Lily grabbed at his sleeve. They needed to move before somebody got closer.

She heard the footsteps, though, and saw the swish of a robe in the gaps between the cauldrons. On instinct, she rammed into the cauldrons, and they spilled in a long, deafening crash, drowning the man. Lily surged to her feet, and took off at a run, twisting from the path of a spell. She fired a spell of her own, and managed to disarm a woman. Peter got another in the chest, and they made it behind a long, towering shelf of potions.

“Can we Apparate?” Peter asked, breathless.

“Nope.”

It was common for shops to use an anti-Apparation charm; it helped prevent petty theft.

“We can probably make it back the way we came,” Peter said, and a spell must’ve hit the shelf in front of them, because there was a burst of noise, of shattering, raining glass.

Lily shook her head.

“What?”

“Mr. Mueller,” she said. “They’re talking about him. _He’s_ what they came for, and who knows what they’re planning to do to him. We can’t just leave him here. We can’t. ”

“You get him, and I’ll cover you,” Peter said.

Lily nodded, and took off. She was exposed for a split-second, and saw a burst of green from the corner of her eye, heard the shatter of vials, saw two of them dragging Mr. Mueller to the door, and lost her breath, ducking in a panic behind another towering shelf.

“ _Bellatrix_!” yelled a man.

“Haven’t you heard?” Bellatrix said, taunting. “Mueller’s apprentice is a _Mudblood_.”

Lily heard Peter’s shout, and saw the flash of red.

There was a cheery little jingle, which meant they were opening the door.

They were taking Mr. Mueller, and she had to act, had to stop them before it was too late; she jumped from behind the shelves, trying to Stun one of them. She missed.

Peter didn’t. He aimed a hex at one, and hit him, made his target writhe with pain. The man dropped Mr. Mueller, and clutched at his face, tripping into the wall, and Lily deflected a curse, and tried again, and she didn’t miss this time. She got the second of the kidnappers in the chest, Stunning him, and, in her triumph, wasn’t fast enough. She got hit, too. Her body went rigid, locked. Like a plank of wood, she tipped, and fell, smashing into the floor. The pain that exploded in her nose was the worst; it had broken.

She was flipped by magic; it was like being tossed by a giant invisible hand.

She recognized the woman who stood leering over her. She was Sirius’s cousin. Bellatrix. She was a known devout follower of Voldemort, and an absolute raving lunatic.

Peter yelled, and there was a crash, and flashes of color.

Bellatrix was unconcerned, and Lily was paralyzed, staring in frozen, helpless horror.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Bellatrix said, smiling. “McGonagall’s orphan Mudblood who’s so . . . _bright_ , so . . . _talented_.” The words were dripping with a kind of terrifyingly cheerful derision, and she tilted her head at Lily. “I’m surprised. I expected more from such . . . _talent_.” She giggled. “ _Crucio_!”

The pain was immediate, and blinding, raking over Lily like a cold so awful it burned.

Then as suddenly as it had started, it had stopped.

Lily was free, too, was able to move.

She scrambled to sit up, head spinning, and stomach lurching, and grabbed at her wand. Bellatrix cackled, and Peter screamed, and Lily didn’t even have to say the spell, feeling it burst from within her. It struck Bellatrix in the back, and disarmed her, tossing her wand in an arc across the shop. Bellatrix spun, and Lily was ready. “ _Stupify_!” she screamed, and she saw Bellatrix’s face contort with hate before she was splashed in red.

She crashed to the ground, and the shop was quiet.

Lily heard the sound of her breathing, and struggled to her feet. “PETE!”

“Here,” he groaned.

He’d taken out the rest of the Death Eaters, or had at least one escaped? Lily panicked for a moment, breathing a sob of relief when she spied Mr. Mueller. He was unconscious, and his forehead was cut, but he hadn’t been taken. She rushed to him, and found a pulse.

“He’s alive?” Peter asked, sitting up.

“Yes.”

“You’re welcome.” He met her gaze, turned his face quickly to the side, and threw up.

“You took out three Death Eaters by yourself,” she told him.

“You took out the looniest of them by yourself,” he said, “although I suppose I distracted her while I writhed in pain on the ground, and she laughed.” His smile was humorless.

Lily yelped when there was a series of pops, and the shop was suddenly full of Aurors.

“It’s about time you bloody bastards showed up!” Peter exclaimed.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur to Lily. She had to talk to a dozen different Aurors, going over exactly what had happened, what she’d seen, and what she’d heard. Eventually, she was sent to St. Mungo’s with Peter, and the two of them were patched up.

She was told that Mr. Mueller was going to be fine, too, and put into immediate protective custody.

“I guess my apprenticeship is finished,” Lily said.

James was the first of their friends to arrive at the hospital with Sirius at his heels, but the rest weren’t far behind, irritating the Healers when they crammed into the room.

Peter’s parents came, and her auntie, too.

It was after Peter’s parents left that, to Lily’s surprise, Dumbledore came.

He came for a reason. “Minerva, would you get the door?” he asked, calm and pleasant, and Lily’s aunt closed the door, and tapped it with her wand, locking it. There in that little hospital room, Dumbledore explained that he led an organization that fought against Voldemort. It was called the Order of the Phoenix, and he wanted to invite them to join. “Make no mistake, it’s a dangerous invitation,” he said. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, and I’ll understand if you decline. But we need people like you. Courageous, and with conviction.”

It was quiet.

“What would we be doing exactly?” James asked.

“We do a number of things, and each of you could do what _you_ are comfortable with. We gather information about what Voldemort’s followers are planning, and attempt to intervene. We protect those we know are targets of Voldemort. We attempt to capture his followers, and to see that they’re turned into the authorities. We lobby the Ministry to combat those in support of Voldemort who are doing the same. We participate in protests against him.” He looked at Lily. “We run into the street, and we fight.” He looked at Peter, at Marlene, at James. “Our aim is to stop him before he gains any more power. We _must_ stop him.”

James looked at Lily, then at Sirius. He nodded, looking at Dumbledore. “I’m in.”

“If he’s in, I’m in,” Sirius said.

“Me, too,” Lily said, leaning her head on James’s shoulder. He squeezed her hand. Her gaze found her auntie’s, and though her auntie smiled faintly, her face was troubled.

Peter nodded, and gave a jerky, what-the-hell smile. “I’m in.”

“I’m in,” Remus said, and Sirius clapped his shoulder.

Marlene nodded, and Emmeline sighed, and nodded, too. “The sooner he’s stopped, the better.”

Dumbledore nodded, and glanced at Minerva. Her smile was tight. “If ever you wish to be out, you may,” he said. “This _is_ going to be dangerous. Your lives are going to be at risk.” He paused, but they were silent, and he continued, smiling. “Very well. If you change your mind, there is no shame in saying so. For now, welcome to the Order of the Phoenix.”

Lily went into work in the morning, bringing James, Sirius, and Remus with her.

They helped her clean up the mess of the attack, and when they were done, they boarded up the windows, she locked the door, and they met Peter for lunch. In the evening, they attended their very first meeting of the Order.

\---

Lily had always really loved Christmas at Hogwarts. She’d loved the singing, the food, the decorations, how it had _smelled_ like Christmas at Hogwarts. Naturally, it was Christmastime when she found herself really, truly homesick for the school for the very first time since they’d left.

Mrs. Potter decked her house in decorations, of course, and played Christmas music on the radio for all of December, and it still felt like the holidays. Lily was happy, but.

Things had been slow lately, and she missed her days at school, the purpose in them.

They hadn’t done very much for the Order yet.

They’d learned about known Death Eaters, and suspected Death Eaters. Dumbledore had explained Voldemort’s history to them. They’d gone on a couple of missions, eavesdropping at various Ministry events, and shadowing a reporter who’d spoken out against Voldemort’s cause, and who’d agreed to be bait for Voldemort. They’d talked to a woman who feared her husband was under the Imperius Curse, and they’d ended up escorting the man to ward in St. Mungo’s where he’d stay until the curse could be lifted.

If they were making any kind of difference, it didn’t feel like it.

“Come on,” James decided, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. His strings were noticeably more cranberries than popcorn for a reason. “Let’s go for a skate.”

“We’ve only done half of the tree,” she said.

“You’ve been moping about all day, and I want to go for a skate. Come on.”

She sighed, and took his head, letting him tug her to his feet. She grabbed a bit of popcorn on the way out.

The sun was setting out, and it was growing cold, but they bundled up, and Lily put a few warming charms on her clothes, and on James’s, and he transformed their shoes into skates, skating immediately to the middle of the lake, and spinning, always so graceful.

She just wanted him to fall _once._

She joined him on the ice, half-walking, and half-skating with her knees bent, and her arms out. He laughed, and she stuck her tongue out at him, skating into his arms.

He caught her elbows, and grabbed her hands, spinning her.

She always loved when he did that. She’d never told him, but, of course, he knew.

“Want to race?”

“Now you’re just taunting me,” she said.

It started to grow darker still, but James waved his wand, and it turned out he’d stashed a stack of candles in the snow by the lake; he hung them above the lake, and lit them, making the whole lake glow. It was like the candles in the Great Hall, only much, much better.

She smiled.

“Like it?” he asked, eager.

She held his shoulders, and kissed him. “You’re sweet,” she told him.

“I—” He licked his lips, and lifted a hand to his hair, knocking his hat off, and laughed softly, cheeks going pink. “I, actually, there’s, ah, something that I want to talk to you about.” He was skating slowly backwards, holding her hands, and staring at her intently.

“What?” she said, and there must have been a rut in the ice.

He lost his balance, and fell.

She was dragged with him, of course, falling into his chest with an oomph. She groaned, then gasped, and stared at him, staring at her in shock. “I’ve dreamed of this moment!”

He frowned. “Of—?”

“You fell!” she exclaimed.

He huffed.

“Dreams _do_ come true,” she said, sighing.

She sat up, off him, and he sat up, too, wincing. But when she made to stand, he grabbed her arm. “Wait, don’t,” he said. “C’mere. Let’s just—” He stretched out his legs, and tugged on her arm, trying to tug her into his lap. “I have to talk to you about something.”

She went along with it, straddling his thighs, and scooting in, hugging his waist with her knees. “Here?” She put her hands on his shoulders. “Isn’t your butt going to get cold?”

“Don’t—let’s not talk about my butt right now.”

“What?” She gasped. “You love to talk about your butt!”

“I love you.”

She smiled. “I know.” She ran her mittened hand through his hair. “I love you, too.”

“You, um.” He smiled. “You do this thing where you wiggle your nose when you have to sneeze. Did you know you do that? It’s like—” He wiggled his nose a little. “That?”

“Sure,” she said, puzzled.

“It’s cute, and every single time I see you do it, I think it’s cute, and I think—” He shook his head a little, and smiled. “I just love you so much. I love how you insist on calling your aunt _Auntie_ —you don’t call her Aunt Minerva, or just, you know, _Aunt_ —it’s got to be _Auntie_. I don’t know why I like that. I just do, ‘cause it’s—you, and you’re brilliant. You’re fun, and you—you’re always using ivy to tie your hair, and it’s—I love that, too”

She smiled. “I thought you hated ivy.”

“I love it when you’re wearing it,” he said. “I love everything you wear.”

“I love everything you wear, too. Well, except for brown. I just don’t think it’s a very good color on you.”

“I want to grow old with you, Lily,” he said.

She bit her lip.

“I want to have kids with you,” he went on. “I want my life to be with you.” His gaze was bright in the dark. “Do you—do you want that, too?”

“Of course,” she said, soft.

“I know that we’re young,” he went on, and she knew what was happening, was suddenly a breathless, exhilarating kind of a shaky, and aware of the loud, wild thumping of her heart. “I know that we don’t have jobs, and things are—are so up in the air right now with the Order, and everything, and people are going to say that we’re young, and, yeah, my father’s been sick lately, and that’s part of why I—but that’s not the reason, I’m not saying that I just want to because of him—but it is going to happen eventually, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

He blinked. “Yes?” He opened his mouth, and closed it. “Will you . . .?”

“Go on,” she said, nodding. “You’re almost there.”

He grinned. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

He laughed, breathless, and disbelieving, and she did, too, kissing him. “I’ve got more speech left,” he said. “I’m ready for you to argue with me about our age, and stuff—”

“I’m very proud of your preparation,” she said, “but why don’t I just put you out of your misery?”

He nodded.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes to marrying you, yes to now when we’re young, and we don’t have jobs, and we’re working with the Order. Yes to growing old together, and having kids. Yes to having a life with you. Yes to it all. Yes, Jamie.” She kissed him. “Yes. Yes. _Yes._ ”

“I have a ring,” he said, and he fumbled in his pocket for the box.

She tugged off her mitten.

Her eyes went wide when she saw it: a yellow gold band with a diamond, and encrusted with emeralds, too. “It was my grandmother’s,” he told her, eager. It was beautiful. “Father’s mother. He sent it to me in sixth year after I wrote him that we were dating.”

“He did not.”

“He did!” James laughed, and when she held out her hand, he slipped the ring on her finger.

She kissed him.

“Lily,” he whispered. “My butt’s getting cold.”

She burst into laughter.

“My balls, too—”

“Come on,” she said, using his shoulders for balance when she climbed from his lap, and stood, reaching out to help him out, too. He got to his feet, and kissed her again.

He transformed their skates back into shoes, and they headed for the house.

“Do your parents know?” she asked.

“I told them I was planning on asking you, yeah,” he said. He grinned. “I bet Mother’s got her face pressed to the window of the kitchen right now. Padfoot knows, too, of course; that’s why he made himself scarce, and I talked to Minnie about it last week.”

“Really?”

“I figured I had to ask for her blessing. It seemed like a really good idea at the time.”

Lily bit her lip. “How’d it go?”

“Well, um. Not too bad! I considered it a success. Overall. Let’s just say I practiced a little more before I asked you, so it went a little . . . _smoother_ with you.”

She laughed.

“She was actually nice about it for, you know, _her_. I was only five minutes into a ramble before she cut me off, and was like—” His tone got high-pitched, and he looked down his nose at Lily. “— _James, are you attempting to ask for my hand in marriage? If so, the answer is no. If not, please save the rest of this delightful, well-planned proposal for my niece._ ”

She was tearing up with laughter.

“I took that to mean I had her blessing, or whatever. She’s always liked me, you know.”

Lily gripped the side of his neck, and pulled him down for a big sloppy kiss on the cheek. “She loves you,” she assured, “and I do, too.”

They came into the house, stepping from the porch into the kitchen, and found James’s mother very pointedly folding dishtowels. She turned. “How was skating?” she asked.

Lily held up her hand.

Mrs. Potter shrieked, and snapped a dishtowel, and managed to hug the both of them together, pressing kisses to their cheeks. “FLEAMONT!” she yelled, hopping in excitement. “FLEAMONT, YOU’RE MISSING IT!” She laughed, and burst into tears. It was Lily’s best Christmas ever.

\---

Things grew darker in England. Frank Longbottom was captured, and they found him unconscious in the street three weeks later, half-dead. Gideon, Fabian, Sirius, and Marlene stopped the Minister’s assassination, but Marlene was hurt, was burned, and it took a month for the Healers to regrow her skin. Remus saved a tiny Muggle girl, and confessed to Lily after that he’d erased her memory, wanting to spare her the memory of her mother’s rape, torture, and murder. James, Sirius, and Lily arrived at the Wizengamot, and were too late to do a thing, finding their bodies strewn across the floor.

For every single victory, they lost a battle.

Voldemort was growing more powerful by the day. Bolder, too. He killed without mercy, and without fear. What was for him to fear? He was untouchable. People were afraid even to speak his name, imagining it might somehow conjure him, and spell their death.

Lily blinked, and it was spring. Her time with the Order had stolen the rest of winter from her.

In the end, they planned a small, simple wedding for June.

“You don’t want to have an elaborate winter wedding in the snow?” James teased.

“You know what I want?” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I want to be married to you. I don’t want a big, fancy wedding that I have to plan, and I don’t want to wait another six months. If it wouldn’t break your mother’s heart, I’d make you marry me today.”

He kissed her.

She wasn’t particularly close with Petunia, but she asked her to be the maid-of-honor; mostly, it was because she couldn’t choose between her friends. She’d assumed that her sister would have a lot of opinions about everything, but Petunia didn’t even arrive in town until the night before the wedding. In truth, her sister was little more than a stranger to her these days. Petunia scorned magic, and when she’d grown up, she’d grown uninterested in anything remotely magical, and that included the woman who’d raised her, and the sister who used to climb up into her bed at night, and demand to be cuddled.

She gave a speech that was pleasant, and generic.

Sirius made up for it, though.

His speech was mostly about the trouble that he used to get into with James, Remus, and Peter. But after he’d reduced their small, close group of guests to tears of laughter, he looked at Lily, and seemed to soften. “We’ve had a lot of bloody good times, it’s true,” he said. “Tonight, thought? Tonight’s got to be the best bloody time we’ve ever had, and you know why?” He smiled. “My mate is marrying the girl of his dreams, and Lily?” He paused. “I used to think I’d hate whoever stole James’s heart. Lily, though? Let me tell you about Lily. She just might be the one person in this world who deserves him, ‘cause she just might be the one person in this world who loves him more than I do.” They laughed at that, too, but Sirius simply smiled, and looked at Lily. “I know he loves her just as much,” he went on, “and I love her, too.” He raised a glass. “To James and Lily!”

Lily wiped at her cheeks, and leaned into James’s side. He kissed her temple. _I love you, too_ , she mouthed, and Sirius grinned, and winked, and downed the rest of his drink.

There was dancing after that, and drinking.

Before she got truly piss drunk, she begged off a round of shots, and escaped her friends to find her auntie.

“Hello, my dear."

She kissed her auntie’s cheek, and claimed the seat next to her. “If you’re up for it, Jamie said he’d dance with you,” she said. “I’d take him up on it before he drinks any more.”

“Sweet,” Auntie said dryly, “but I danced with Albus, and with Fleamont.”

“You’re having a good time then?”

It surprised her when her auntie reached out, and tucked an errant curl behind Lily’s ear. “Yes, my dear,” she said. “I am having a good time. You need not worry about me.”

“I know.”

“She said I can’t!” James shouted, drawing their attention. “Lily! Oi! Where’s my wife? LILY! TELL GIDEON THAT YOU SAID I’M NOT ALLOWED TO DO A SPLIT!”

She laughed. “I didn’t say he wasn’t _allowed_.”

“No?”

“I just told him if he did _,_ I wouldn’t be icing his balls for him after.”

“I see.”

Lily grinned. “I’m happy,” she announced. She was probably a little bit drunk, too.

“Good.” Her auntie smiled warmly.

“Where’s Tuney?” Lily asked. “She disappeared after her speech.”

Auntie sighed. “She thought she should go home, and get a good night’s sleep. Her flight leaves at five in the morning.” She paused. “She said she’d be back at Christmas, but I told her—I said not to, that she ought to stay in France for a while. She’s safe in France.”

“She agreed?”

“She looked at me like I was—” She stopped.

“What?”

“She is happy to stay in France,” Auntie said. “It was good of you to ask her to be your maid-of-honor. I know she was pleased about it.”

“She could have said so.”

“That is not her way,” Auntie said. “Never mind that, though.” She smiled. “This is your wedding!” She reached for Lily’s hand, giving it a quick, warm squeeze. “Go on, my dear. I can see Black egging your husband on. If you do not stop it, you _will_ be icing his balls tonight.”

Lily snorted, and leaned in, smacking another, louder kiss to her auntie’s cheek. “I love you.”

Auntie smiled.

“Did I just hear you talking about _balls_ , Minerva?” Sprout asked, red-faced.

Lily grinned, and returned to her husband.

She was _married_.

She danced with her friends, and with her husband, and drank with them, too, choking on champagne when Benjy did a split, and it split a seam in the butt of his trousers.

By the end of the night, she _was_ truly piss drunk.

James had to take her piggyback to bed, and they didn’t even undress, falling onto the bed, and snogging on top of the covers with drunk, wandering hands like they were sixteen again. He kept saying her name with such adoration, such _joy_ , and she loved it.

She loved him.

They decided to postpone a honeymoon for after Voldemort’s defeat.

In July, they moved into a townhouse in the heart of London. It was for just the two of them, but, well, there was a reason they picked a place with multiple spare bedrooms.

By the end of summer, their wedding was a hazy, perfect memory.

They were losing the war, and that was what it was: a war. Day after day, the news was worse, more terrifying. Bellatrix was broken out of Azkaban. Three prominent, respected Muggle-borns were killed in their beds, and their families were murdered, too. Werewolves had slaughtered a group of students in Hogsmeade under Voldemort’s command. Lily thought of her wedding on those days, and held it carefully in her hands. She held onto James, too. In October, Caradoc Dearborn disappeared in the dead of night, and he was never, ever found. Lily held onto James with everything in her.

\---

His parents had been getting steadily worse for months. At James and Lily's wedding, they'd danced only a handful of dances before the both of them were too tired, and had to leave. They had been old when they'd had James, were gray-haired by the time he went to Hogwarts, and drinking so many medicinal potions by the time James graduated that he had to help them keep track.

Still, it was heartbreaking when it happened.

In August, Fleamont succumbed to his fifth, awful bout of Dragon Pox. They knew it was coming; he was in the hospital. But in the loo at St. Mungo's, James sobbed until he couldn't stand, and Lily had to curl up on the floor with him, holding him.

Three weeks later, Euphemia didn’t have the heart to fight it when she got sick, too.

"Lily, my precious girl," Euphemia said, squeezing Lily's hand in her own too soft, too pale grasp. "My _brilliant_ girl. I'm so glad for you."

That was the last thing she ever said to Lily.

She died in her sleep.

At her funeral, Sirius gave the eulogy that James had written when James started crying, and couldn't finish. Lily wasn't any better off, clutching his hand, and shaking with the sobs in her chest. Fleamont's death had been devastating, too, but it was Euphemia who taught Lily for years, who spoiled her, who Lily hadn't been ready to let go of yet.

They all got through it, though. They had to. There was a still a war to win, and lives to be saved, still a madman to be stopped.

\---

There was an attack on the Ministry, and Lily rushed to help with the rest of the Order. It was the worst, most bloody attack yet, was a _battle_. Lily was back to back with Remus, and he was the one to notice. “ _Prongs_!” he breathed, and she followed the tilt of his head to see that James in the distance on the floor above them, fighting three people at once. She choked. “Go!” Remus yelled, leaping into the fray on their floor. “I’ve got this! _Go_!”

She took off for the stairs, trying to keep an eye on James. It was impossible. She reached the landing, but he was gone. There wasn’t a trace of him, or whom he’d been fighting.

She heard a voice, though, and tightened her grip on her wand.

They were in an office.

She didn’t dare breathe, standing in the doorway. The place was destroyed, and marks in the walls were still smoking with the fight. James was on the ground, wandless, and shadowed by a figure whose back was to Lily. She knew who it was, though she’d only seen his picture.

“ . . . and return the name to glory,” Voldemort said, and he extended his hand to James.

Lily saw it happening even before it happened: she saw James’s mouth tighten in refusal, and she imagined Voldemort lifting his wand, and saw the flash of green, killing him.

She reacted.

Voldemort was faster. She’d been silent when she’d cast her spell, but Voldemort spun, and parried her hex like it was nothing, tossing it aside. His movements were swift, precise, and without any thought, making them deadly. She had to duck out of the doorway into the corridor to dodge a curse, letting it splinter the wood of the doorframe.

She threw a spell in again, but he blocked it with such ferocity that she was knocked off her feet.

He stalked to her, and she tried to scramble up, pointing her wand.

In a blink, he disarmed her.

He lifted his wand above his head, and his face was contorted so strangely, was shaped with hate yet bright with sick, twisted joy, and Lily knew what would come next.

 _Jamie,_ she thought.

“Oi! That’s my WIFE, YOU MOLDY HUNK OF CHEESE!”

Voldemort spun, deflecting James’s attempt to Stun him. “I’m disappointed,” he hissed.

“Sorry,” James panted.

He blocked a hex from Voldemort, and Lily sent a cruse that Voldemort had to repel.

“But she’s _taken_!” He fired another curse.

Lily did, too, but Voldemort was able to deflect both easily, and his reply was so quick, so furious, that he tossed off James’s spell, and disarmed him right after. He turned, parried Lily’s next rushed hex, and that was when James yelled, and ran, and _tackled_ him.

The two of them went sprawling to the ground.

But in the tussle, Voldemort was stronger, and had a hand around James’s neck.

Lily screamed the very first spell that came into her head, and it blasted into Voldemort, throwing him. James was rasping for breath, and Lily scrambled to get to him.

“PRONGS!” Sirius yelled.

Her gaze went to the stairs, and it wasn’t only Sirius who was coming for them; there were the twins, and Marlene, and _Dumbledore_ , and Lily looked back at Voldemort.

He’d risen to his knees, and he sneered, showing off the blood that lined his teeth before he Apparated.

The battle was over.

Lily helped James to sit up, clutching him to her chest. She could feel his heartbeat.

It was over, and they’d won.

Their bloody, disheveled group returned to headquarters, and while they sat in a stupor, news came over the radio. In the midst of the fight, Voldemort had murdered the Minister. It seemed the Ministry hadn’t fallen, but it had come dangerously close, and would again.

Lily went to the loo, and shut the door. Her hands were trembling. She turned on the sink, splashing cold water on her face. She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment.

She’d really thought she was going to die.

There was a knock on the door, and James came in, shutting the door again after.

She dried her face. “I needed a minute,” she told him. “It was a minute, or a smoke.” She managed a smile.

He nodded.

She reached out, frowning, and he turned his head to let her assess the angry red marks on his neck. Voldemort had _choked_ him, had been about to kill him. She lifted her gaze to his.

They met in the middle, colliding into a kiss.

She was a mess of fear, adrenaline, and relief, and she pressed into him, clutching at him. They didn’t really undress; she never even took her knickers off properly. She unbuckled his belt, and shoved his trousers to his knees, and he crowded her into the wall, pushing up her skirt, and yanking at her pants, pulling the crotch to the side, and thrusting into her. She clutched at his shoulders, panting into his mouth, and holding his gaze.

They were _alive_. They came face to face with Voldemort, and _lived_.

“I love you,” she gasped.

He pinned her hips to the wall, and fucked her wildly, making her cry out, and covering her mouth with his to muffle the sound.

She had to splash her face with water again after, trying in vain to cool the redness in her cheeks. Her hair was a mess, and James tried to help, combing his fingers through it.

He’d been the one to mess it up to begin with, after all.

The radio was still on in the parlor, although nobody seemed to be listening. Moody was leading a discussion about what they needed to do to protect the remaining Ministry officials, and safeguard the government. It took the last of the flush from Lily’s cheeks.

She reclaimed her seat, and James sat with her, settling a hand on her knee.

“How were you able to stop him?” Moody asked, turning very suddenly to Lily.

She blinked. “Voldemort?”

“Yes, Voldemort!” he growled. “Keep up! I saw you hit him with something, and throw him off Potter like he was a sack of flour! What spell was it? It took him off guard.”

“Oh, it was just a . . .” She shrugged. “ . . . regular old spell.”

Moody stared.

“It was, um, a spell to clean your oven.” She cleared her throat. “Well, don’t look at me like that! It was the first thing that popped into my head! And it _worked_ , didn’t it?”

“Right, Evans,” Fabian said.

“You sure cleaned him up,” Gideon agreed.

There was a round of laughter, and exclamations; James smacked a kiss to Lily’s cheek. “I think it is safe to say that you _all_ fought very valiantly,” Dumbledore said, smiling. “Now, however, I think we have all earned a good night’s sleep.”

\---

It was storming, and in the middle of December, that meant it was blizzarding. Snow fell fast, and thick, piling up, and the wind was particularly bad, too, burning your cheeks.

They were questioning a Death Eater when they got the news.

Selwyn had real, concrete information about an attack on Gringotts that they’d only been able to gather the more frustratingly useless whispers about, and they didn’t have a choice, needed to question him if they hoped to stop the attack, to foil Voldemort’s plans. They were at headquarters, and James, Lily, Sirius, and Dumbledore were talking to him. They’d given him Veritaserum, forcing him to admit that he did have the information, but he was smart, and he’d found ways to circumvent actually giving them that information.

“He knows we aren’t going to hurt him,” Sirius said, frustrated. “This is useless.”

Lily watched Selwyn from across the room. Even strapped to a chair with his hands tied behind his back, he was relaxed. Sirius was right. He wasn’t actually afraid of them.

“I hope you are not suggesting that we _do_ hurt him,” Dumbledore said.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t give him a black eye, or two. Rough him up a bit. I’m not saying we should torture the guy, or actually, _really_ hurt him. Just get him worried.”

Dumbledore sighed.

“What’s your suggestion?” Sirius asked. “Try to talk about our _feelings_ with him?”

Benjy stumbled into the room, panting, and panicked.

“What?” James said.

“Marlene,” Benjy gasped, and Lily’s heart leapt into her throat, thundering. “They took her.”

“Where?” Dumbledore asked, sharp.

“I don’t know, but I know they took her. I know—”

“Benjy, I need you to tell me what happened,” Dumbledore said.

Benjy nodded. “I was—it’s Tommy’s birthday, you know, today, and I told him I’d stop by for the dinner his mum was having for him, but I was late getting there, and when I got there, the Dark Mark was over the house, and—”

“No,” Lily breathed. “ _No_.”

“I ran right in; I couldn’t stop myself,” he went on, shaking, “and they were— _all_ of them were just—they murdered them _all_. Tommy, and Sarah, and their parents, and Nicholas, too, and—and _Nicky_ —” He choked.

“Marlene wasn’t there?” Sirius asked.

“No.”

James looked at Lily. “Could she have left dinner early?”

“I found her wand,” Benjy said, crying. “It was on the floor. It was broken. They _took_ her.”

Dumbledore raised his wand, and summoned his Patronus with a single precise wave, murmuring the information, and sending the soaring silvery phoenix off with the message.

“We can make a trade,” James suggested.

“Yes,” Lily said.

He nodded. “If we can get word to them that we’ve got Selwyn, we can offer to make a trade. They give us back Marlene, and we’ll give them Selwyn. It could work. He’s valuable to Voldemort, in his inner circle.” James looked at Dumbledore. “It’s worth a try.”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, grim. “It is.”

Why would they take her? Why would they kill her family, and just take her? What did they want with her?

They knew she was in the Order.

“They’ll make a trade,” James said, looking at Lily. “They will.”

“How do we get in contact with them?” she asked.

“Regulus,” Sirius said. “There’s a way I can get in contact with him. It might not work, but I think it will, and if I can get a message to him, he can take it to Voldemort.” He clenched his jaw, and nodded. “Regulus is our way in.” He looked at Lily. “I’ve got this.”

She nodded.

“Go,” Dumbledore said. “Send us word as soon as you can.”

Sirius clapped James’s arm, and was running out of the room, out of the house.

“I need to do something,” Lily said. “There’s got to be something that I can do. I can’t just sit here, and wait. Is there a way we can figure out where they took her?”

“If there’s a trace left at the house, Minerva will find it.”

James pulled Lily into his arms.

“I’ll alert the Ministry as well,” Dumbledore continued. “They might be able to help us.” He sent a series of messages via his Patronus; they flew from the room one by one.

From nowhere, a sleek silvery cat bounded into the room. It circled Lily’s legs, and flew up, circling Dumbledore’s head, and Lily heard her auntie’s voice talking at a whisper. She couldn’t her what her aunt was saying, of course, but she knew by the look on Dumbledore’s face that it wasn’t what he’d hoped for. Her aunt hadn’t found a trace to follow, a clue that could lead them to Marlie. They were helpless to find her, to save her.

 _We’ll make a trade,_ Lily thought. _We’ll get her back._

Her mind went to Tommy, and to Sarah. They were Marlie's siblings, and several years older than her. She thought the world of them both, looked up to them, and, _oh, God,_ Lily pressed her lips together, because Benjy had said they’d killed Nicholas, too, and Nicky. They’d killed Sarah, and they’d killed her husband, and they’d killed her _son_. He was a toddler, was _three_. Marlene’s sweet, chubby little three-year-old nephew was dead. They’d killed him.

Had she been forced to watch?

They’d killed her parents, too. She’d watched Death Eaters murder her parents, and her siblings, and her nephew.

 _Marlene_ , she thought, and she needed to see her, to hug her, to have her back.

Frank arrived at Headquarters, and Hagrid, too.

“You think he might know something?” Frank asked, nodding at where Selwyn was tied to a chair.

“He might,” Lily realized.

Frank glanced at James, and the two of them stalked to Selwyn.

They began to question him, to ask if he’d known about the attack on Marlene’s family, if he had any idea where they’d taken Marlene, or what they were planning to do to her.

Selwyn grinned, and refused to say a word.

“You better start talking, you insipid little shit,” James snarled, “or I will fucking tear that smirk off your face, and shove it up your asshole. Do you hear me, Sewer? Do you hear what I’m saying to you?” He stepped in closer, getting in Selwyn’s face. “ _Where is she?_ "

Selwyn laughed.

Lily curled her hands into fists, and turned. She couldn’t stand looking at him.

“What’s so funny?” Frank demanded.

 _“Look_ ,” Selwyn said.

Lily’s gaze snapped back to him, and to James. James frowned, and he looked at Lily. Then his eyes moved past her, looking out the window, and she saw it on his face. James’s gaze bounced back to her, and “don’t!” he said, and started for her in a panic.

She spun on her heel to look out at the window, and see.

The snow had stopped, but she didn’t see that.

She saw Marlene. They must have known this was where the headquarters for the Order were even if they couldn’t see the building. She went cold. She stopped breathing, stopped feeling. Marlene was hanging in the air by her ankle. She was bloody, and naked, and dead.

“No,” Lily whispered.

“Lily—”

She broke. “ _No_!” she screamed, and she ran for the door to the hallway.

She heard voices behind her, knew they were talking to her; she felt a hand on her arm, trying to grab her, and stop her. She couldn’t stop. She sprinted down the hallway, the ground falling out from her, and shoved open the house’s front door, stumbling into the snow, and to Marlene.

“I’m here!” she sobbed. “Marlie, I’m here, I’m here, Marlie, it’s me, I’m here—”

There was a flash of red, of _heat_ , brushing her cheek.

Someone had tried to Stun her, had been waiting for her to run to Marlene’s rescue. But they’d missed her, and James grabbed her suddenly, hoisting her up like she weighed nothing. “NO!” she screamed, kicking at air. Frank was behind James, attacking the attackers, and Lily fought, struggled. “I have to help her—let go of me—I have to—LET GO OF ME!” She couldn’t see through her struggle, through her tears, through the bright white snow that covered the world, and blinded her. She could see Marlene, though.

James won, dragging her back into the house. “I’m sorry,” he panted.

She scrambled from his arms.

The door burst open, and Frank was carrying her.

“Let me—” Lily gasped. She reached for Marlene’s face. “Marlie, I’m here, Marlie—”

“She’s gone, Lily,” Frank said, soft.

Somehow, Lily ended up on the floor of the foyer, and Marlene was in her arms, but she wasn’t. She was gone. Lily clutched her shoulders, pressing her forehead to Marlene’s, and sobbing. James touched her back, and she jerked away from his hand, hugging Marlene. He had a blanket, and he wrapped it around Marlene, tucking it carefully so it stayed in place. Lily lifted her head, and looked at him. His eyes were wet, heartbroken.

She heard the laughter, leaking into the hallway.

“Take her,” she whispered. “Here. Hold her for me, alright? I’ll be—I’ll be right back.”

He frowned. “Lily—”

She rose to her feet, and started for the sitting room. There was a pop, and her auntie was there. She started to say something, but Lily passed her. In the sitting room, there was another pop, and Alice was there. Dumbledore said something, too, but Lily was looking at Selwyn.

She stalked to him, never missed a step.

“Sorry,” he said, and he smiled, showing up a set of perfect, pointed white teeth.

“Lily,” Dumbledore said.

She lifted her wand, and Selwyn’s smile faltered.

“Lily!”

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

There was a burst of green, striking him right in the middle of his chest, and knocking his chair backwards with the force. It hit the ground, and the room was still, and quiet.

“They should be afraid of _us_ ,” she whispered

She turned, and was faced with everyone: with Dumbledore, with her auntie, with Frank, with Alice, with Hagrid, with Remus, and Peter, and Sirius, and James. They stared.

“That’s never the answer, Lily,” Dumbledore said, and his voice was thick with sadness.

From behind her, Selwyn gasped, and began to cough.

She ignored him, and the rest of them, too, returning to the hallway.

Benjy was there. He was on the floor, hugging his knees, and staring at Marlene’s still, wrapped up body. Benjy was Tommy’s best friend. He knew. He understood.

Lily sank to her knees, reaching for Marlene. The skin of her cheek was cold from the snow.

Lily was aware of what happened after.

She knew when James came to get her, and gave up, sitting. She knew when Emmeline came; she ended up holding her sobbing, shaking friend. Eventually, somebody took Marlene, and Lily didn’t stop them. Somebody gave Emmeline a potion to put her to sleep. It was late. James coaxed Lily up, and to the kitchen. But she didn’t want to eat. Dumbledore tried to talk to her. She didn’t want to talk to him. She knew when they managed to extract the information that they’d wanted from Selwyn. He’d been so frightened by his brush with death at Lily’s hand, he’d spilled his guts to Sirius in a rush.

Lily couldn’t have possibly cared less about Selwyn, or his information.

Marlene was _dead_.

Lily learned what they’d done to her before they killed her. She heard a whisper from the corner of the room, and she demanded to hear more, to hear they’d done to her friend.

She was going to be sick. James was trying to hug her, but she couldn’t.

“Drink,” Auntie said. “This is not a discussion."

Lily took the vial of potion from her aunt, and downed it. There.

Before she passed out, she noticed that it was snowing again. It was falling in those fat, fluffy flakes that were Marlene’s favorite. They were the best for building a snowman.

\---

“I know you want to help,” Dumbledore said, “and we need your help, but I think you ought to take some time away from the Order. Just a little while. You need time to mourn. It changes us when we lose the people we love; we need to be allowed to mourn.”

“ _We_?” Lily said.

“Take the time you need,” he said, gentle.

She couldn’t believe he was trying to do this at Marlene’s _funeral._ He’d cornered her, and insisted on talking, and her watchdogs had allowed it, were standing silently behind her, and letting it happen. “I don’t need _time_ ,” she said. “I need the people who went into Marlene’s childhood house, slaughtered her family, and slaughtered _her_ to be punished.”

“To be killed?” He raised his eyebrows.

“To be _stopped_.”

He held her gaze for a moment. “You used an Unforgivable Curse.”

“It didn’t work.”

“Did you want it to?”

She pursed her lips. “I’m not _taking time_ to cry in a corner. I’m just not. Forget it.”

“You must not have truly wanted to kill him,” he continued. “Intention is powerful. If you had intended to kill him, you would have. Instead, you stopped his heart for a moment. Scared him. Is that what you wanted? Did you mean simply to frighten him?”

“Sure.”

He sighed. “I’m trying to _help_ you.”

She turned in her chair, looking at the boys. “Can we leave now? I’m tired. I want to go home.”

“Yeah.” Sirius nodded. “I think we’re done.”

But at the house, there was nothing for her to do. The funeral was planned, and over. Marlene was in the ground with her parents, her siblings, and her nephew. Gone.

Marlene had given her a picture of Nicky taken right after he was born. Where was it? She went to the bedroom, and opened her trunk from school. She’d organized it somewhat, and she searched through the stacks of letters that she’d kept, through old banners she’d made to hold up during Quidditch matches. She found a box of photographs. There were a lot from school; in one, eleven-year-old Marlene winked at the camera, and Lily couldn’t take her eyes off it, watching her wink again and again and again.

“She would’ve liked your speech,” James said, soft.

She continued her search for Nicky’s picture.

“I think it’s the first speech I’ve ever heard with more than a dozen puns in it.”

“Marlie loved puns.”

“I remember. She was the queen of the world’s worst jokes.”

She found it. Nicky’s picture. Marlene was in it, too, holding him, and her gaze kept bouncing from him to the camera. She smiled softly at the baby, then looked at the camera, and it became a proud, auntie grin. Then she was looking at him softly again.

“Lily."

“What do you want?”

“I want you to stop for a second, and look at me.”

She stood, and turned to look at him.

“Look,” he started. “I get that you’re mad at Dumbledore. It isn’t his fault, but you need somebody to blame, and you’ve picked him. Talk to me, though. _Me_. Your husband.”

She crossed her arms. “Talk to you about what?”

“Did you want to kill him?”

“What does it matter?”

“It matters if you wanted to _kill a man_ , Lily!”

She scoffed. “I didn’t kill him, alright? He isn’t dead. We can all forget about it now.”

“But you _wanted_ to kill him.”

“Well, apparently, that _wasn’t_ my intention. If it had been, then it would have worked, he’d be dead, and there’d be one less raping, murdering psychopath in the world.”

It was quiet.

“Great,” she said. “Does this mean we’re finished?”

He shook his head. “You start killing them, and what makes you better than them?”

She stared.

“Come on,” he said. “Padfoot isn’t here to get you out of this. He keeps telling me that you need space, but you know what you need? You _need_ to talk. We’re going to talk.”

“What makes me better than them?” She felt her eyes grow wet. “How about that I don’t believe my _blood_ makes me a superior human being? Or how about that I don’t senselessly rape, torture, and murder men, women, and children? How about that I would never do to another human being what they did to my _best_ —” She cut herself off, breathing in sharply, and looking away from him. She wasn’t going to start crying now.

“Lily.” His voice had gone soft.

“This is a war,” she said, wiping her eyes. “If you want to win, you’re going to have to do more than tie up the Death Eaters, and give them a stern talking to.” She clenched her jaw. “You want to talk? Fine. _Fine,_ James. Let’s talk. In a month, when it’s my body they find like we found Marlene’s, and they’ve _raped_ —”

“ _Don’t_.” He swallowed.

“Don’t?” she challenged. “What? Don’t remind you that this is a war?”

He was silent.

His face had gone stony, which meant he was ready to be finished with this conversation. Good. She was ready to be finished, too. “I think Sirius was right. I need some space.” She closed her trunk. “I’m going to stay at Emmy’s,” she told him. “We’ll be locking the door.”

She left, and he didn’t try following her.

She’d known he wouldn’t.

The flat was quiet when Lily got there. “Emmy?” she called.

“Kitchen!”

“Where’s your mother?” Lily asked.

“I told her that she didn’t have to keep staying with me,” Emmeline said, offering up a shadow of a smile. Her eyes were too bright.

“Can I stay with you?”

She nodded. “Yes, please,” she whispered, and Lily hugged her.

They made potpie for dinner, because it was Marlene’s favorite. Or they tried. It didn’t really work, because both of them were awful at cooking. It came out oddly seasoned, and very undercooked. “She would’ve told us this was disgusting,” Lily said, and Emmeline laughed, and began to cry, and they spent the whole night on the floor of the kitchen, crying, and freezing, because Marlene liked to keep the flat cold, and drafty.

“I was in love with her,” Emmeline said. She looked at Lily. “You knew that, right?”

“I suspected,” Lily admitted.

“She knew,” Emmeline continued. “She didn’t—I mean, she wasn’t gay, but she—” Her eyes welled with tears. “She used to tell me _you’re the best damn thing that ever was._ ”

“She loved you.”

“I know.” Emmeline smiled weakly, and shook her head. “I thought I could be in the Order,” she whispered, “and I could fight, and—and risk my life, because I was willing to die. I wasn’t afraid. I didn’t think about—” She stopped. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t ready for—to lose _her_. I didn’t ever—” She was starting to cry again.

“Me, neither,” Lily said.

She wanted to say more, wanted to say the words that would make it right. She couldn’t, because they didn’t exist. She touched Marlene's ring with her thumb. Marlene had gotten it for her gradation from Hogwarts, and she'd loved it; it was a complicated, woven band that looked like a crown. Lily had found it among her things when they were preparing for the funeral, and she'd taken it. It was all she had left.

\---

In the morning, she went to the library to meet Alice, Edgar Bones, and a man who was apparently Dumbledore’s brother. He had information for them. Lily was the first to arrive, and she found a front window seat that gave her a pretty good view of the street.

It wasn’t long before Alice showed up, carrying a paper to-go cup of tea.

She was startled to see Lily. “I didn’t think you were coming today,” she said, sitting hesitantly beside Lily. “I would have brought you a cup, too.” It was a question.

“I’m not a morning tea drinker,” Lily replied, ignoring the question.

It was quiet.

“I brought a couple of meals over to your house last night,” Alice started.

“That was thoughtful of you."

“I was surprised when you weren’t there.”

“I was at Emmy’s.”

“Right,” Alice said. “But couldn’t she have come to stay at your house? I only mention it because it seemed like James was upset, and I, well, I’ve noticed this past week that you’ve been taking a lot of anger out on the people closest to you, and that includes—”

“I don’t really want to talk about this.”

“I was just going to say—”

“I don’t want to talk about my marriage with you, Alice.”

Alice sighed. “Lily, you just have to remember that your husband is you _partner_. He’s your one, your way to survive this war. You can’t fight with him. He’s your _one_.”

“My _one_?”

“You know what I mean,” Alice said. She smiled, and began waxing poetic about Frank, and how dearly she loved him, about how her life began when she met him, and would end if ever she lost him, how he was the breath in her lungs, and the beat of her heart, and she could survive anything as long as she had him. “He’s my one. The one I need. You’ve got that, too. I know that things are hard right now, but you’ve got _him_. _James_.”

“Alice,” Lily said, mustering a smile. “I appreciate your concern for me, and I appreciate your . . . _inspiring_ marital advice. Truly, I do. Now could you please shut up?”

“Oh.” Alice blinked. “Sure.” She took a sip of her tea.

Edgar arrived. “You aren’t supposed to be here,” he said, brusque like usual.

“I disagree.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree. Okay, team. Aberforth is going to be here at eight. He’s prickly, but he _has_ agreed to talk. We just need to be ready to ask the right questions.”

\---

The weekly Order meeting was that evening. Lily attended, and Emmeline was there, too. Good. They might’ve lost Marlene, but that didn’t mean they could just give up.

There was a war to be won. For her family, and for her.

James arrived with his friends, and made a beeline for Lily, taking the seat beside her. He did that thing where he took up too much space, stealing her space, and putting them elbow to elbow, hip to hip, knee to knee; he was pointedly close in that loud, _notice me_ way he specialized in.

She ignored him.

The meeting got started. Edgar presented what they’d learned from Aberforth. Moody got up next to speak about a recon mission that he’d been on for almost three weeks.

He went on, and on, barking at them.

She tried to remember the last thing Marlene had said to her. She couldn’t. They’d been talking about the cost of groceries at the end of an Order meeting, and. _I think I’m developing an allergy to milk_. That was what Marlene had said, the last thing. Or that was what Lily remembered, could hear Marlene saying in her head. She must have said something else, something like goodbye. Lily couldn’t remember anything more, though.

Marlene was developing an allergy to milk, then she was gone.

Lily shot to her feet, and Moody broke off in the middle of a sentence. The whole Order stared at her. “I have to—” She stopped, and stalked out of the room, going to the loo.

James followed.

“I don’t have it in me for a fight right now,” she told him.

“I loved her, too.”

She tightened her grip on the edge of the sink. “Don’t. Just— _don’t_ , alright?”

“But I know I didn’t love her as much as you did,” he continued, “and I don’t know what to do for you. I wish—I wish I could undo it. I wish I could give her back to you. You have no idea how much I wish I could do _anything._ I’d tear the world apart if I thought I could make it better. But I can’t.”

“I need some fresh air,” she said, and tried to get past him.

He stepped into her path.

“James—”

He hugged her.

She was stiff in his arms, but he wouldn’t let her go. “I—” She choked.

He hugged her tighter.

They swayed. Slowly, she sank into his chest. She curled her arms around him, pressing her lips to his shoulder. “I want her back,” she whispered. “I just— _I want her back_ , Jamie, I want her—” Tears rose in her throat. “It’s not fair. It’s not—” She gasped. “It’s not—it’s not—” She broke. She began to sob, to _beg_. “Just let me—let me have her back, please. _Please._ I just want her back—I _need_ her—I need her back, I just—” Now that she’d started, she couldn’t stop. She shook with sobs, buckling under the weight of them, and he held her up, held her close.

They never went back to the meeting.

They stayed in the loo, ending up on the floor. Eventually, Sirius came in after them. He stared at them for a moment, at the way Lily was half on top of James, and he sank onto the ground to sit with them. She was all cried out now, red-eyed, and wrung worn.

“I think it’s gone,” she said.

She felt Sirius’s gaze.

“The person I was before.” She stared at a break in one of the squares that tiled the floor. “It’s gone, it’s just . . . gone. I can’t get her back. Me. And I don’t know who’s left.”

Sirius took her hand. “We’ll still be here when you figure it out.”

She looked at him, and at James. They were on each side of her, surrounding her, and the wall was to their backs, holding the three of them up. “I can’t lose you, too,” she said.

“You won’t,” James said. “I promise, you won’t.”

“You can’t, though,” she said. “You can’t promise me. You don’t know what’ll happen.”

He stared at her, and when he spoke, it was slow, and certain. “Nobody is going to take me from you,” he said. “I _promise_. I won’t let them. I’m never, ever leaving you. _Never_.” She knew that he couldn’t make that promise. Marlene hadn’t meant to leave her either. But she looked at him, and she wanted it to be true. She needed it to be true. She nodded.

Sirius shifted, and put his head in her lap.

“I wasn’t really thinking about it.” She stroked Sirius’s hair. “Killing him.”

James waited.

“I just—I wanted him to know what it felt like to be scared. I wanted to make him stop laughing.” She swallowed. “I guess I don’t have it in me to be a killer.”

“What was the joke about horses?” James asked. “Marlene’s?”

She smiled. “What does a horse call his neighbor?” She leaned her head on James. “He calls him a _neigh-_ bor. Get it? That’s what Marlene would say. _Get it? Because he’s a horse? It’s a horse joke. You wouldn’t get it; you aren’t a horse person_. _You don’t know._ ”

“That’s such a bad joke,” Sirius said.

“It was her favorite,” Lily said, “and it’s absolutely dreadful.” It turned out she still had tears left to cry. She closed her eyes. “Did she ever tell you the one about the fish?”

\---

The second time she faced Voldemort, it was with Remus as well as James. Together, the three of them stopped him from stealing a teakettle from a pawnshop, and from murdering a trembling Ministry employee who worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.

Severus Snape was there, too.

Lily had known he was a Death Eater, but she saw it for herself that night.

Dumbledore had no explanation to why Voldemort wanted a _teakettle_ , and the Ministry confiscated it before he could find out, saying it was cursed with the darkest of magic.

Gideon told Lily after that the employee she’d saved was his brother-in-law.

“I owe you,” he told her.

She shook her head, and smiled in thanks when she took the cup of tea that he’d made for her. “You really don’t,” she assured, and they headed into the weekly Order meeting.


	4. Chapter 4

She faced Voldemort yet again when he led an attack on Diagon Alley. She fought alongside all of her friends, all of the Order, and they won, chasing him off, and escaping the fight with their lives. But Gideon was burned badly, and Remus needed to stay at St. Mungo’s for a week while his fingers were regrown, and, worst of all, James had gotten hit with a curse from Voldemort that had him vomiting up blood so violently Lily had thought for a moment she might lose him. They got him to Pomfrey in time, thankfully.

Lily hadn’t been badly injured, but she ended up going to Pomfrey again herself for a potion to settle her stomach a short week later.

“I thought all you had from the attack was a sprain,” Pomfrey said, irritated.

“I did, too,” Lily said. “But I’ve been throwing up a lot since it happened, and none of my homemade plant remedies seem to help. James thought I might have gotten hit with a spell, or something?” She raised her eyebrows, hopeful. She hated being sick. She was exhausted, and she missed Marlene terribly, and she needed to fix something, to get some kind of relief.

Pomfrey frowned. “Open your mouth.”

She did, and Pomfrey took her jaw, peering in. She checked Lily’s pulse, and pulled up Lily’s shirt to look at her torso, and to press her small, cold fingers to a few different spots, checking for tenderness. “It’s mostly at night,” Lily added. “I’ve been really tired, too.”

“I see,” Pomfrey said. “Sex?”

“What?”

“Have you been having regular, penetrative sexual intercourse?”

She blinked. “Oh. Um, yes. I mean, not a lot the past month, or so. Marlene, and . . . I’ve been so tired. I literally have to go to sleep at, like, nine. If I don’t, I turn into a bit of a monster. I think this is actually the least that we’ve had sex since we started having sex.”

“I see.” She fetched a potion from her cabinet, and uncorked it. “I’m going to draw a drop of your blood,” she said, “and test it.” She didn’t wait for Lily to argue, pricking Lily’s arm, and scooping up a drop of blood directly off Lily’s arm with the rim of the vial. She held up the potion to look at it. Lily looked it, too, although, of course, she had no idea what she was looking to see. The potion was blue, and the drop of blood vanished into it.

They waited.

“What’s it supposed to do?” Lily asked. “Bubble?”

Suddenly, it brightened. From a point in the middle, the potion changed color, and became a bright, cheerful orange.

Pomfrey smiled faintly, and corked the potion. “Do you want to keep it?”

“The potion?”

“Yes.”

“Should I want to keep it?”

“I’ve diagnosed you, Mrs. Potter.”

“You’ve known me since I was seven,” Lily said. “I think you can call me by my first name.”

“You’re pregnant.”

“I—” Lily blinked. “What’s that now?”

“Pregnant.”

“But I had my period,” Lily said. “Recently. It just happened.”

“When?”

“ . . . Recently.”

“The potion is orange,” Pomfrey said, final.

“The potion is _wrong_!”

“I suggest you go to St. Mungo’s to speak with a Healer who specializes in pregnancy. I do not. Such a Healer will be able to tell you age, sex, etc.” She frowned. “You aren’t interested in knowing if it’s a Squib, are you? There are ways to find out, but they are—”

“Hold on!”

Pomfrey was quiet.

“I’m not pregnant,” Lily said. “You’re mistaken. I’m not, alright?”

“Fine.”

She stared. “I’m _pregnant_?”

“Yes.” Pomfrey sighed. “Take your time. If you need me, I’ll be seeing to my patients.”

It was too much, too soon.

They were in the middle of a _war_. They had no jobs, were living on money from James’s parents. There were constantly in danger, lived a life that didn’t have room for a child. They were way too young. _They_ were children, and they weren’t ready, weren’t prepared.

She’d just lost Marlene, and now this? So suddenly, it felt like a punishment.

She hard the soft, plaintive sound of a voice that was trying not to cry, and glanced down the wing to see Pomfrey with a small, sandy-haired boy who was definitely only eleven.

 _I can’t have one of those_ , she thought.

But it’d be even harder than one of those, wouldn’t it? It’d be a squalling, pooping little loaf of a person, and she’d have to do everything for it, and, _oh, God,_ how could she?

They were fighting a war. How could she do that pregnant, then with a baby? She couldn’t. She’d have to quit the Order. She’d have to stay at home, and care for the baby.

She needed to talk to James.

She used Floo powder; James had finally got their house connected to the network.

She came in through the kitchen, and called for James. She followed his voice to be greeted with the sight of lounging, smoking boys, and with the _smell._ She smoked Muggle cigarettes when she was drunk, and she knew Remus smoked a lot of pot, having grown up around Muggles. But James, Sirius, and Peter? They preferred to smoke this awful wizarding leaf from a pipe, and they knew that Lily hated the smell. They _knew,_ yet James grinned, and hailed her, and she stared, feeling her stomach revolt against her.

“I don’t want you smoking that anymore,” she said.

James frowned.

“Now, Evans,” Sirius started, and she knew his _let’s think about this carefully_ voice; it was his favorite to use when he wanted to get his way, and had to pull out the charm.                                  

“I’m pregnant.”

It was silent for a long, awful moment before Peter exclaimed suddenly, “with a _baby_?"

“How did this happen?” James asked.

“I’m guessing it was when you put your penis in my vagina,” Lily said, flat.

“The potion—”

“Doesn’t always work,” she said, matter-of-fact. “Remember when Pomfrey talked to the Gryffindors? The potion is effective, but it isn’t foolproof, and accidents can, and do, happen. It happened. I’m pregnant, and, yes, Pete, it is a _baby_. I’m pregnant with a _baby_.”

There was a pause.

“Well, who’s really that shocked?” Sirius asked.

“I am!” James said.

“Come on, mate,” Sirius said, raising his eyebrows. “The two of you go at it like bunnies. Honestly, I’m kind of shocked you’ve gone this long with _out_ getting her knocked up. Though the last time I walked in, I’m pretty sure that isn’t were you stick it to make a—”

“Oh, my _God!_ ” Lily exclaimed.

“I mean, I like blowjobs as much as the next—”

“I can’t,” Lily said.

“I think we should go,” Remus said.

“Do whatever the _fuck_ you want,” she snapped, and she stalked out of the room, heading for the stairs. She couldn’t do this. She _couldn’t._ She was _married_ to a child, and, apparently, she was married to his friends, too. She couldn’t have a child. She couldn’t.

The bedroom was a disaster.

She began to yank up clothes off the floor. She tugged the sheets off the bed, looking for socks. James _insisted_ on wearing his socks to bed, then always toed them off in the middle of the night, and left a collection of used, forgotten socks at the bottom of the bed. It was maddening.

“He was trying to lighten the mood,” James said.

“Clearly.”

He touched her back. “Lily.”

“Why are they always here?” she demanded. She stomped to the basket, tossing in the clothes she’d collected. “They don’t actually _live_ here. Emmeline is staying with us because she doesn’t want to be alone right now.” She began to make the bed, yanking up the sheets. “They aren’t alone. They don’t need to be at my house every _fucking_ day! They don’t need to be a part of my _marriage_! I’m married to you! I’m not married to them!”

He hesitated.

“ _James_!”

“I mean, you’re a _little_ married to them!”

“Well, I’m not having a baby with them!” she yelled. “I’m having a baby with _you_!” She stared at him, panting. “I’m having a baby, James.” She sank onto the edge of the bed. “I’m having a _baby_. I’m twenty years old, and fighting in a war, and I’m having a baby.”

He sat beside her.

“What are we going to do?” she asked, deflated.

“How far along are you?”

“I don’t—” She shrugged. “I don’t even know. Pomfrey told me to go to St. Mungo’s. But once we go, and we find out the age, and the sex, it—it becomes real, and I . . .”

It was quiet.

She didn’t know anything about babies. She’d never once changed a nappy, or fed a baby with a bottle. Had she even ever _held_ a baby?

“You don’t want this,” he said. It was a question.

“Do you?”

“I . . .” He pushed a hand through his hair, and shook his head. “I don’t know. I know I want to have children with you. Someday.”

“We aren’t talking about someday, though,” she said. “We’re talking about _now_.”

He sighed. “What do _you_ want? ‘Cause I’m in this with you, Lily. I am. I’m going to be the best fucking dad you’ve ever seen. But you’re the one who’s got to be pregnant, and—give birth, and just . . . just be the _mum_ , you know? Do _you_ want to do this? _Now?_ ”

“We’re in the middle of a war,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“How can we have a baby in the middle of a _war_?”

He nodded, and, shifted, and she copied him, moving so that they were facing each other. “Look.” He took her hands. “If you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. It’s . . . frowned upon in our society to decide _not_ to have a baby, but nobody would have to know, and our friends? You know they wouldn’t care, that they’d understand. We don’t _have_ to do this. We’ve got time. We can make a baby in five years, or in ten.” He paused.

“I’m sensing there’s a but.”

He smiled. “There is. If you don’t want to do this ‘cause you just don’t want to, fine. If you don’t want to do it ‘cause we’re young, and we have shit to figure out, or there’s just stuff you want to do first, that’s fine. We won’t do it. But if you don’t want to do it because of Voldemort, I . . .” He shook his head. “He shouldn’t get a say in this. This is _our_ baby. This is our _life,_ and we’ve already lost enough because of him. He’s already _taken_ enough from us. He shouldn’t get to take this from us, too.”

She stared at him. His expression was soft, earnest. “I love you,” she told him.

“I love you, too.”

She sighed, and pressed her forehead to his. “I know I could talk to Emmeline, but I really just want to talk to Marlene. Before, I would have talked to them both. Now, though, I just. Now that I can’t talk to Marlie, I _just_ want to talk to her. Is that terrible?”

“It’s not,” he said. “You should talk to Em, though, and to Minnie.”

She drew away from him, nodding, and wiping at her eyes. “I need a nap,” she said.

“Take a nap.”

“I don’t know that I could fall asleep now.”

He kissed her. “Try. Here.” He stood, pulling at the sheets. He waved his wand, and the window curtains closed, shadowing the room. “Come on. Take a nap, and I’ll make dinner.”

“You always make dinner.”

“I’ll throw out my pipe, too, and all the leaf I’ve got.”

“Deal,” she said.

He kissed her again.

It wasn’t actually very hard for her to fall asleep; she had thought she’d be too anxious, but she was out as soon as she put her head on the pillow, and closed her eyes.

James made stew for dinner, and shortcake for dessert, and he’d picked up the house, too, or, well, it turned out Sirius, Remus, and Peter had picked up before they’d left. She felt guilty for yelling at them, and about them. They were her friends, too. They were her _family_. She’d always had a temper, and she’d let it get the best of her that afternoon. She apologized to James. “You’re pregnant,” he replied. It was supposed to be an explanation, and it _was_ an explanation. But. She was _pregnant_. They ate in silence. James was thinking about it, too, staring intently at nothing visible.

Emmeline was helping to bodyguard the daughters of the new, interim Minister of Magic, and was late getting off duty. She got in, and Lily told her while Emmeline ate dinner.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I have no idea.”

In the quiet, Lily stole a strawberry off Emmeline’s plate, and a bit of cream, too.

“What do you think it’ll look like?”

“What?”

“Your baby,” Emmeline said. “You think it could have red hair? It probably wouldn’t, though. I bet it’ll be dark-haired like James. Can you imagine a girl with his hair?”

“No,” Lily said. But she could, couldn’t she?

She went to sleep, and she couldn’t _stop_ imagining it. Black hair, or red? Knobby knees? His dark skin, or her pale, pasty skin? Glasses? Girl or boy? She imagined it every which way, staring in the dark. Gryffindor? Yes. It’d have to be. James would tell him all the time how Gryffindor was the best, so he’d want to be in Gryffindor. He’d be so in awe of James, so attached to him. He’d love Sirius, Remus, and Peter, too. Or her. A girl.

James wasn’t sleeping either. She knew. If he was lying on his back like that, he wasn’t actually asleep.

She rolled over, and into him, shifting to put her head on his chest.

In the morning, she went to Hogwarts to see her auntie. She had to wait for her auntie to finish with a class, then they went into her office, and her aunt began brewing the tea.

“How are you, my dear?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Her auntie was startled. “You are certain?”

“Pomfrey seemed pretty confident,” Lily said. “I—” She hesitated. “What do I do?” But she didn’t give her auntie a chance to answer. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t keep it in. She burst into an explanation of everything that she’d been thinking about. How they were young, and their lives weren’t in order. How James said he’d support whatever she decided, but he _had_ to have an opinion that he just wasn’t telling her. How she could imagine it, her _baby_ , but they were in the middle of a war, and could she be in the Order if she was pregnant, a mother? “Auntie, I’m . . .” She shook her head. “What do I _do_?”

“I cannot answer that for you.”

“Please?”

Auntie sighed. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know what I want to do!”

“It is not necessary to shout at me, my dear.”

Lily took a biscuit, dunking in in her tea. “I’m sorry. I’ve been like this for weeks. I want to be blame being pregnant, but I know that it’s Marlie, too, and the war, and just—it’s like I’m drowning, and every single time I think I’m about to break the surface, and _breathe_ again, something else happens, and I’m being dragged back down. I—how can I be _pregnant_ in the middle of a war? How can that have happened? How can it _be_ happening?”

“Alice is pregnant.”

“Longbottom?”

“Yes. She is nearly four months, I believe. Frank is worried. You might have noticed that. He is not doing a very good job of hiding it. Alice, meanwhile, seems unable to help her excitement. She was pregnant, you know, a few years ago, and lost the child, and that was after two years of trying. I suppose these things rarely go the way we plan them to.”

“Alice is ten years older than I am,” Lily said, “and, well.”

“What?”

“It’s _Alice_.”

Auntie smiled. “You are as capable as Alice,” she said, “if slightly less cheerful.”

“You think I should do it then? Have it?”

She took a sip of her tea. “To care for a child is not all good times,” she said, “and it is not all bad times. But it is _all the time_.” She raised her eyebrows. “Is that something you are ready for? The moment you decide to become a mother, you are going to be the best that a child could hope for. I have complete faith in that. But are you ready for that decision? Once you make it, it is done. You become a mother for the rest of your life. You cannot take it back.”

“I wouldn’t try to,” Lily said.

“I know.”

“I . . . I just can’t stop thinking about the war, and Voldemort. James says we shouldn’t let Voldemort have a say. He says that if I don’t want it because I’m just not ready yet, that’s fine. But that we shouldn’t let Voldemort stop us from living our life, and having our baby.”

“James is right.”

“But I can’t just pretend that Voldemort doesn’t exist, and there isn’t a war. I can’t.”

Her auntie blew lightly on her tea, and took another stip. “I have never been so frightened of anything in my life,” she said, “as I was of taking you in, and taking your sister in, becoming you guardian, _raising_ you. There was a part of me that believed you would be better off in a home.”

“In a _home_?”

“It was Euphemia who reminded me that to be a Gryffindor was to know that some things were simply more important than your fear.”

Lily bit her lip. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that you cannot make any decision based on fear. If there were not a war, would you want to keep it?”

It seemed so strange, imagining. If there weren’t a war, her whole life would be different. If there weren’t a war, she’d probably have finished her apprenticeship, would be working her first, low paying job. If there weren’t a war, Marlene wouldn’t be dead, and a lump rose in Lily’s throat. She imagined it, the shenanigans of the lot of them with a baby, and she knew the answer. “Yes,” Lily whispered, damp-eyed. “But there _is_ a war.”

Her auntie was quiet.

“You aren’t going to tell me what to do, are you?”

“No, I am not.”

“You love telling me what to do.”

Auntie smiled. “This isn’t a matter of posture, or politeness.” She set her tea down. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, Lily, because you already know what you want. You knew what you wanted when you came into my office, but you have convinced yourself that you are wrong to want it. I disagree.” She looked plainly at Lily, and she was right.

Lily could feel the want, filling up her chest, and squeezing her lungs, hugging her heart.

Auntie took her hand, and squeezed.

At home, Lily found James pouring over maps of the Ministry with Sirius. She moved in between them, and James touched her back in greeting, brushing a kiss to her temple.

“I’ve decided,” she said.

James looked at her. She held his gaze, and he must have seen it, or maybe he’d known it already. But he kissed her sweetly, and dropped to his knees, hugging her waist, and pressing his face to her belly.

\---

She got her strength back eventually, realizing only then how truly tired she’d been, and for how long. It was a relief, too, when the nausea went away, and she regained her appetite. It was too soon to know the gender, but the baby was healthy, and Lily was, too.

She felt like her old self again, although that didn’t last for very long.

In truth, pregnancy wasn’t as awful as she’d feared it would be. She grew, of course. She was due at the end of August, and began to show in April. Her stomach grew quickly, and the rest of her grew quickly along with it; she became a big, lumbering incubator, had big, heavy breasts and big, thick legs and a big, protruding belly. But she never got cold now, and she loved it, and her hair never got greasy, and she loved that, too. Also, there was the sex.

She really, _really_ loved the sex. It was so good, and so _much_.

She felt like she went to pieces with a _look_ from James. She was so sensitive, so ready; she cried out at the touch of his hands on her breasts, felt she’d pass out with the pleasure of him inside her. She’d always really enjoyed sex, but this was different. She was _desperate_ for it these days, ambushing him because she _needed_ it, was aching for relief.

He was happy to help.

They had to be more creative about things as she grew bigger, but creativity had never been a problem for them.

She remained a part of the Order, but her role wasn’t the same, and couldn’t be until after the baby was born. By the start of summer, she attended the meetings, and that was the extent of her involvement. She didn’t like that part of pregnancy, didn’t like that she’d become completely useless to the Order, to her friends.

“You aren’t useless,” Sirius dismissed. “You’re growing our heir.”

“Our?” Remus raised his eyebrows.

“Heir to the Marauders,” Sirius said. “This is the child who’ll carry on our _legacy_ , Moony.”

It helped a little that Alice was pregnant, too, and had similarly been sidelined. She liked to sit with Lily at meetings, and chatter about pregnancy, about names, and her ankles, and which fruit her baby was the size of this week. Alice was thrilled to be pregnant, and thrilled that Lily was, too.

“Have you picked a name?” she asked.

“Hmm?” Lily was busy, unwrapping a sweet.

“Have you picked a name?”

“Oh,” Lily said. “Elvendork.” She smiled. “I’m told it’s unisex.”

Alice blinked.

“You don’t like it?”

“No,” Alice said. “I mean, no, I—I _do_ like it! It’s lovely!” She smiled. “Unique, too! I don’t think I’ve ever even heard it before, actually. Is it an old family name, or . . . ?”

Lily patted Alice’s knee. “You’re sweet.”

She bought a baby names book the very next day, flipping through it until the pages were dog-eared, and throwing a lot of suggestions at James. He kept replying with various family names, but she insisted that she wanted the baby to have a fresh, brand new name.

“What if it’s a girl?” Peter asked.

“I had a great aunt named Tallulah,” James said. “She was horrible.” He shuddered.

Lily rolled her eyes.

“You wouldn’t want to name it Marlene?”

She blinked. “I—”

James was quiet, too, but he looked up from painting her toenails to meet her gaze.

“No,” she said softly. “In the future, maybe. For now, though, I’d just look at my baby, and think how she never got to meet the woman she was named after, and I just . . .”

“Brand new name, it is,” James said.

“I don’t know that I’m ever going to have children,” Sirius announced.

Lily smiled.

“I mean, you know I’m only attracted to really, really beautiful people. Prongs is taken, Evans is basically my sister, and, you know, incest is another Black tradition I’ve rejected. Benjy is a bloody good romp, but I don’t want children with that complexion, you know?” He frowned. “Lily, I don’t suppose Minnie’s interested in having any children?”

\---

She was spending the night with her auntie to placate her fretful, _ridiculous_ husband, and trudging in the rain to do it. Emmy was on a mission, it was that time of month for Remus, and James had insisted that Lily could not _possibly_ spend the night all by herself.

She was seven months along, after all. She might need something! She needed to think of the baby.

“I’m a grown up woman, you know,” she’d told him. “I can survive a night by myself.”

But he’d whined until she’d agreed to spend the night at her aunt’s.

She couldn’t Floo because Dumbledore believed the network was compromised, and her auntie had an anti-Apparation spell on the cottage, forcing Lily instead to Apparate to James’s old house, and walk the distance. It wasn’t actually very far; she’d done it before.

It seemed far when it was stormy out, though, and it was stormy that night.

 _The things I do for you, Jamie_ , she thought.

There was a flash of lightning, scaring her, and she hunched her shoulders, irritated.

It was shocking that he let her go outside at all. The wind might blow her over! The sun might give her a tan! The rain might get her wet! He was a fretful, ridiculous _moose_.

She’d have to come up with a story for her auntie, too; she couldn’t exactly explain that she’d walked a kilometer in the rain in search of company for the night because her husband had transformed into a stag, and was frolicking with a werewolf until dawn.

She saw the warm yellow lights of the cottage in the distance.

Another sudden, bright flash of lightening lit up the sky, and Lily saw a glint of silver. She frowned, and lifted her wand to point the tip of light in that direction, squinting.

There was a _pop_.

In that split-second, she was struck with panic.

She didn’t even have a chance to blink before her head was splintered with sudden, blinding pain. The last thing she felt was the jump of the baby in her belly, then the world went black.

\---

She became slowly aware of the thudding in her head, and the rough, low sound of voices in an argument. For a brief, dreamlike moment, she assumed it was her boys. She blinked, and realized that she was lying on a carpet, and she didn’t know those voices, didn’t know where she was, or what was going on.

She remembered the rain on her cheek, and the strike of pain to the back of her head.

She was _attacked_.

She choked. She’d been hit in the head, might have fallen. _Move_ , she begged, and she touched the swell of her belly, terrified. _Let me know you’re alright. Please, baby._

“—matter?” yelled a voice. “Let’s kill her, and be done with it!”

On instinct, she closed her eyes, and tried to even her breathing. If they didn’t know that she had woken up, she was at an advantage. Her hands were tied, and it didn’t seem they’d put any kind of spell on her, or any other restraint. She could get away from them.

Once she got away, she’d get help for her baby.

She needed to tune into their conversation, and find a moment to run.

“. . . have been what he wanted, but he’s said before that—”

The voice cut off at the sound of sudden, heavy footsteps, stomping into the room.

“Where?” asked a man. His voice was thick with irritation, and Lily knew it immediately, thought she might choke with the sudden, awful recognition. It belonged to Mulciber.

“That’s Potter’s wife, isn’t it?” said another man. “It’s got to be. She came here first, then—”

“That’s his wife,” Mulciber said. “ _Lily_.”

“Did you know she was pregnant?” asked a woman.

How many of them were there?

“I didn’t,” Mulciber said.

Lily made herself lay absolutely still; she was certain that he was looking at her.

“We shouldn’t stay here very much longer,” said the woman. “It looked like she was on her way to McGonagall’s shoddy little house. I doubt it’ll be long before McGonagall comes looking for her precious little Mudblood, and chances are she’ll start right here.”

Her auntie wouldn’t come looking for her, though.

But if they were some place that they assumed her auntie would look, that was good. That meant it might be easier for her to escape.

She was desperate to crack a peek, but she couldn’t. Not yet.

“Should we kill her, and deliver her to their doorstep?” asked a voice from earlier.

 _Marlene_ , Lily thought.

The cocktail of horror, terror, and anger that struck her was like a jolt, and she felt it; there was a stir in her belly, and a tiny little kick to her ribs.

She was flooded with relief, nearly gasping aloud.

“We should take her to the Dark Lord,” said a new, slicker voice. “He’s said before how he wishes to punish McGonagall. I can’t think of a more fitting punishment for our professor than the death of her darling Mudblood niece at the hands of the Dark Lord.”

“It’ll be good for Potter, too,” said the woman. “Remind him of his place.”

“Yes,” Mulciber said. “You can open your eyes now, Lily.”

“What?”

There was a sudden, violent press to Lily’s belly, and she jerked away from it, hugging her baby, and looking up. If there was any thought of running, it evaporated when she saw Mulciber’s wand, and the sneer he wore, towering over her. “Get her up,” he snarled.

Two of the men reached for her, and though she tried to jerk away from their hands, they dragged her up.

She knew exactly where she was.

This was the parlor she’d first met James in when she was five years old.

“Have you been hiding out in here, trying to spy on my aunt?” she asked, stalling. “Or were you here simply to pillage some of my mother-in-law’s good wedding china?”

“Your _mother-in-law_?” Mulciber said.

She glared.

“You think your marriage to Potter is lawful?” he asked. He stepped in closer to her. “He might like to fuck you, but that doesn’t make you his wife. You’re nothing more than a filthy Muggle whore, and that _thing_ you’re carrying? It’s an abomination, and a _bastard_.”

She spat in his eye.

He smacked her across the face, and lunged, taking a hold of her throat, and tightening his grip until she choked. “Do you _want_ me to cut your tongue out, cunt?” he hissed.

“It’s time to go,” said the woman. “McGonagall—”

“If she was going to come looking, she would have by now,” Mulciber said.

“ _Mulciber_!”

He released her. “You know what we ought to do with her? We should fuck her ‘til she’s dumb and bloody and finished with, then give her back. See if Potter still wants her. What do you think, Evans? Think he’ll still be quite so enamored with you?” He sneered.

“Have you finished?” asked a tall, rasping man.

Mulciber was silent, glaring at Lily with such open, terrifying hate.

“We’ll take her to my house,” continued the rasper. He dark-haired, bearded; she couldn’t place his face, but she knew it, had seen it before in photographs. “We’ll keep her in the cellar until the Dark Lord is ready for her.” He didn’t wait for any kind of consent; with a pop, he was gone.

Mulciber hadn’t taken his eyes off Lily.

“I’ll take her,” said the woman, and she grabbed Lily’s arm with stubby, bruising fingers. Lily broke eye contact with Mulciber, and tried to jerk away from the woman, but that irritated her. She slashed her wand in a short, jerky movement, and a spark of awful, blistering pain snapped in Lily’s face, blinding her in one of her eyes. “Come on,” snarled the woman, tightening her grasp on Lily’s arm, and yanking Lily to her side, Apparating.

Lily was dizzy for a moment when they reappeared.

Her eye pulsed with pain; a drop of wetness ran down her cheek, and she tasted the tang of blood in the mouth.

Immediately, she was grabbed, and half dragged, half-shoved from the dark, shadowed room they’d arrived in, and down a flight of stairs into a cellar. It wasn’t what she’d expected, was lined with shelves of wine, and barrels of beer, had arches in the ceiling.

If she got could get her hands on a bottle, she could break it, and make a weapon.

Lestrange seemed to know that, though.

She’d remembered who the dark-haired, bearded Death Eater was. Rabastan Lestrange. He’d committed some of the vilest atrocities that had been done in Voldemort’s name.

He yanked Lily’s hands behind her back, binding them with the tap of his wand before he shoved her suddenly to the ground; she tried to keep herself from falling on her belly, ended up wincing at the stab of pain in her elbow, and taking the brunt of the fall with her hip.

Lestrange paused, seeming to assess her.

She wanted to say something, but she bit her tongue; she couldn’t risk angering him, and having him lash out at her, and hurt the baby. She bit her tongue, and glared at him.

He squatted in front of her, and with another tap of his wand, chords sprang from the tip, and snaked over each of her ankles, dragging them together, and binding them. She thought he would leave after that. Instead, he brushed his finger against her cheek. “You are a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Shame. I’m tempted to keep you.”

She didn’t even breathe.

He rose to his feet.

She was paralyzed until he’d gone, and she heard the door slam shut. It broke the silence when she gasped for breath; the air in the cellar was cool, and she drank it in big, desperate gulps.

She had to get out of here.

How long would she have before Lestrange returned, and took her to Voldemort?

She tried to struggle to her feet, using the wall for a support. But it was impossible with the bindings, and her belly. She couldn’t get further than her knees. She sank to the ground, and tried to break the bindings, pulling at them until they were cutting into her wrists, stinging. It seemed the more she pulled at them, the tighter they became. That probably wasn’t her imagination. They were magic, were likely to tighten at a struggle. She was helpless.

Nobody was looking for her.

Why would they? Her auntie thought she was at home in her bed with James, and James assumed she was with her auntie. He’d get home in the morning, and crawl into bed, passing out under the belief that she was sleeping in at her auntie’s. He’d sleep through the day; he always slept through the day after. He wouldn’t realize she was missing until he woke in the afternoon, and she hadn’t come home. Or later. He might not think to worry until the evening. Meanwhile, who else would think to wonder where Lily was?

She’d be dead before her husband even knew she’d been taken.

The baby moved just a little, turning, and it made her chest go tight. What had she done? “Oh, baby,” she whispered. _I’m sorry_ , she thought, tears pricking her eyes. _I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart._ What had she done? How could she have been so stupid, traipsing off in the dark by herself? She’d never even get to be born. Or he. She didn’t know, hadn’t even picked a name, and now she never would. _I’m sorry, baby. I messed up. I failed you._ “I’m so sorry.” She wanted to hug her belly, but she couldn’t.

She didn’t know how much time passed.

She searched for something to cut her bindings on. Nothing.

She began to grow hungry, and thirsty, and the thirst was worse, making it hard even just to _think_. She closed her eyes, and dozed off, though it wasn’t for long. She was too thirsty, too uncomfortable, too afraid. She peed herself. She couldn’t manage to hold it in.

She scooted on the ground to a row of wine, and shifted, trying to tug a bottle out with her bound, aching hands. It took a bit of twisting her arms, but she managed.

She dropped it immediately. It didn’t break. She wished it had.

She tried to pick it up, to knock it into the wall. If she could break it, she’d get her hands on a jagged piece of glass, and could cut through her bindings. It’d give her a _chance_.

But with only the strength of her hands, she couldn’t get the force to break it.

She tried swinging her arms, banging it into the brick. Nope.

She kept at it, starting to sweat, and when the bottle cracked, she cried out with relief. _Yes._ She had to hit it against the wall again a couple of times to break off pieces, splashing wine, and when she fumbled with the pieces, she cut her fingers repeatedly. But she got a pretty large, jagged piece, and managed to put it to her bindings, trying to saw.

She didn’t know how long she tried until she gave up, admitting the truth to herself.

The bindings were _magical._

She began to nod off again when the sound of footsteps on the stairs jolted her awake. She was disoriented with exhaustion for a moment, then realized. This was it. She tensed.

It was Mulciber.

He stopped in front of her, and stood for a moment. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

There were a dozen useless remarks on the tip of her tongue. _Do you remember that time my husband punched you in the face? Does it really frighten you that much that my parents were Muggles? You shouldn’t smile like that; it makes your face look even more like a Hippogriff’s ass._ But she stared at him, and something in her broke. “Please.”

“Please?” He was delighted. “You’re going to beg now?”

Her fingers brushed against a piece of broken wine bottle, and struggled to grasp it.

“Do you know what you are?” he continued. “You’re a _plaything_ , a toy for your betters to toss about, and have a good time with.” He dissolved her bindings with a wave of his wand, startling her. “That’s all you’ve ever been, and all you ever will be. Get up. Now.”

She stared.

He pointed his wand at her belly. “Get. Up. _Now_.”

She stood, though it took her a moment. Her knees felt weak, and one of her legs was pricked with pins after being forced to sit so long. She kept her back to the wall.

His lips were twisted up with a kind of pleasure when opened his mouth, and his features went suddenly, unnaturally stiff. She watched his eyes grow round with shock, with horror, before they rolled back in his head, and, in odd, deafening silence, he crumpled to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Her gaze flew from him to the man who’d attacked him, standing in the shadows by the stairs. Even in shadows, she recognized the slope of his shadows, the cut of his jaw.

The relief was so sharp, so sweet; it tore a sob from her throat. “ _Sirius_!”

She barreled into his chest.

“Paddy, oh, _God_!” she gasped. “I thought that nobody was going to realize I was missing, and I . . .” He was unmoving in her arms, and she drew away from him just slightly, wanting to find his gaze. “How’d you get in here?” she asked, and looked into his face.

She stumbled away from him.

It wasn’t Sirius. This man was paler, and greasier, had a longer, gaunter face.

“I—”

“We need to leave,” he said.

“You’re Regulus,” she said. She’d searched him out at Hogwarts after she’d first learned of his existence that summer, though it hadn’t been to talk to him. She’d just wanted to lay eyes on him. He’d seemed like a sickly-looking, wallflower of a boy to her, a nobody.

“Do you want more of them to come for you,” he snarled, “and take you to the Dark Lord to be the decoration at his dinner table tonight?” His eyes burned black, and angry.

“Let’s go.”

He turned on his heel, and started for the stairs. She followed, trying to understand what was happening. He stopped at the top the stairs, and held out his arm to stop her, too.

She strained to hear a noise beyond the door, but there was nothing to hear.

It startled her when he took her arm, gripping it like he would a child’s who he feared might run off, and tapped his wand to the door to make it swing silently open.

He pulled her into the corridor.

There must’ve been an anti-Apparation charm only on the cellar, because he tugged her into his side as soon as they were completely in the corridor. She wrapped her arm around his back, squeezed her eyes shut, and let him turn sharply to the left, Apparating.

They reappeared in the kitchen of a small, dimly lit flat the smelled of paint.

“Go,” he ordered. “Quickly.”

She stared.

“Tell no one of this,” he added, “or you cost me my life. That includes my brother, and his friends. Do not say a word. Do you understand? Tell a soul, and you take my life.”

“Why?” she said.

“I saved your life, and you are demanding more of me?” He glared.

“I—”

“You owe me your life,” he said, cold. “If you want to repay the debt, keep your mouth shut.” He didn’t wait for her to reply. So quickly she couldn’t even try to stop him, he Apparated, and she was left to gape at nobody in an empty, unfamiliar flat. She swayed on her feet.

He’d saved her. Why?

The last time Sirius had mentioned his brother, it’d been days after Marlene died. He had told Lily that he’d left a message for Regulus about her, but his brother hadn’t replied.

Had he gotten the message, but known is was too late to do anything?

 _What if he’d gotten the message in time?_ Lily thought. _Would he have saved her, too?_

She hugged her belly.

“You alright, my love?” she asked. The baby hadn’t moved in a while. “Can you hear me, sweetheart? Can you move for me?” She moved her hands, feeling for the baby.

She looked about the flat. Was it Regulus’s? It didn’t look lived in.

She knew she shouldn’t linger, but her eyes found the sink, and she couldn’t help going to it, turning the tap. It made a couple of noises, then water rushed from it, and she gasped, cupping her hands to catch a little, and gulping it up. She tried to splash a little on her face, but it stung her eye so badly that she cried out. Her cheek was swollen, too.

She needed to get out of here; after all, she had no idea where her was, or if it was safe.

She found the door out of the flat, and took it. Down the corridor, there was a lift, and she headed for it, hearing the noise of voices in the flats that she passed. Or it could’ve been radios. Still. She went quickly. She took the lift, and escaped out the front of the building.

It was light out, or growing slowly light.

The sun was rising. Had it really only been a night? It had felt like so much longer.

She was in an alleyway that seemed to be sandwiched between cheap flat buildings, and she started off, realizing quickly that she had to be somewhere in London among Muggles. She didn’t know where. This was a part of London she’d never been in before.

Where did she go from here?

She didn’t have a wand, which meant she couldn’t Apparate herself, and she was without any good way to contact James, her auntie, or anyone. She couldn’t exactly phone them.

By the looks she was getting from Muggles, she knew she must look frightening.

 _I just want to be home_ , she thought, and felt her eyes prickle with tears she had believed she was too exhausted to cry.

“Do you need help, sweetie?” asked a woman.

Lily blinked.

The woman was old, wore a kerchief, and was shrunken with age, but she blinked at Lily through thick, round spectacles, and her gaze was kind, and filled with concern.

“Um, I don’t—I don’t know where I am,” Lily admitted.

“I think I can help with that.” She smiled, and touched a hand gently to Lily’s arm.

She wanted to take Lily to a hospital, but Lily insisted that she needed to go home. “Can you—? I just need some money for the bus, and I’ll be fine. I hate to ask, but could—?”

“Of course,” said the woman.

If she had questions about Lily’s battered face, she didn’t ask. She must have noticed the marks, too, where the bindings on Lily’s wrists had cut into skin, but didn’t comment.

She got Lily to a stop, and bought her a ticket that would get her within walking distance of home. She bought her a sandwich, too, and squeezed her hand, seeing her off when the bus pulled up. “Take care of yourself now, dear. If you need help again, you come back, yes? Here. I’ll write my address down for you.” She scribbled it on the sandwich’s paper.

She ate her sandwich on the bus, and it woke up the baby.

He wiggled, and Lily could have cried with relief. She’d made it, and her baby had, too. They were going home, and they’d be with James soon, with Sirius, and Remus, and Peter, with her auntie, and this whole terrifying, nightmare would finally, _finally_ be over.

\---

The bus dropped her off in town, and Lily had to walk a kilometer to their townhouse on the edge of town. She found new energy when it came into sight, and she reached it quickly. She let herself in with the key they left in one of her hanging flower baskets, and called for James. He’d be home by now, and passed out in bed. She hurried up the stairs.

He wasn’t in bed, though. He wasn’t anywhere in the house, and neither were his mates. She called out their names, and wound up in the kitchen, which is where she saw it.

Her wand was lying on the table.

Fear seized Lily.

How had it gotten there? She’d had it in her hand when she’d been attacked, which meant it should now be in the hands of her attackers. Did they know where she lived? _Oh, God._ Was this a trap? Had Regulus actually rescued her, or had it been part of some sick plan?

She snatched up the wand, and spun, searching for an attacker.

The kitchen was quiet.

She cast her Patronus, feeling a rush of comfort at the sight of her silvery, graceful doe. It pawed the ground, and she gave it a message. _Jamie, where are you?_ She was terrible at sending a message via her Patronus, and had to keep it short. That would have to be enough. The doe pranced off, taking the message, and Lily sank weak-kneed into a chair.

She needed to change, and to bathe, to eat more, to drink more, to heal her hands, and her face, to have a Healer check on her baby. But she couldn’t do any of that right now.

She needed to sleep for days, but she couldn’t do that yet either.

She thought of Regulus, knew she’d be wondering about him a lot in the weeks to follow.

She jumped when a large, silvery stag leapt in through the window, circling her. _Where are you?_ It was delivered in a whisper, but his voice was desperate, strangled. _We’re coming. I love you. I love you so much. Just tell us where you are. We’ll get you out. I love you._

It wasn’t the response she’d expected. She’d assumed he was with his mates, recovering from the night at their flat, and he’d be woken by her message, and he’d send her a message to say he was on his way, or he’d just pop right in. But his voice had made him sound completely terrified. Had he known that she was taken? How? Where was he?

 _Home_ , she replied, and sent her doe to him, watching it go out the window.

She’d cast a Patronus for the very first time when she was fifteen. It had been a doe from the start.

She hadn’t known about James was an Animagus at the time, and she had insisted to her friends that it had nothing to do with that _arse_ of a boy, had insisted to _herself_ that it had nothing to do with him. Why would it? Yes, she could see his Patronus across the classroom, and, yes, she could see that it was a stag. It was a coincidence. After all, she hadn’t seen that before she’d cast her Patronus. Marlene hadn’t been easily fooled, though. _You know his friends call him Prongs, and you know what has prongs_? She had cried with laughter, and Lily had made her doe chase Marlene’s cat around the classroom.

There was a pop, and he was standing in front of her.

She burst into tears.

A series of pops came right after, but she wasn’t paying attention to them.

James surged to her, dropping to his knees, and reaching for her, touching her belly, and cupping her cheek. She clutched at his arms, and pulled him in, hugging him tightly.

“I love you,” he murmured. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He was crying, too.

“I’m alright,” she assured. “I got away from them.”

He drew back slightly to look at her, touching his fingers to jaw, and turning her face. He touched her belly. “The baby?” But she didn’t answer; the baby did, kicking him. He dropped his head, pressing his forehead to her belly, and she bent over him, kissing the crown of his head, hugging him to her. She looked up, seeing the rest of her boys.

“You alright?” Sirius asked. His eyes were wet with relief.

She thought of his brother. _Tell a soul, and you take my life_. She nodded. “I am.”

“What happened?” James asked, sitting on his heels to look at her. His gaze traced over her face, and his mouth pinched slightly. “We need to send for Poppy,” he said, soft.

“I’m fine,” Lily said. “I am confused, though. How did you know I was taken? I didn’t think you’d realize until this afternoon at the earliest.” At his look of confusion, she glanced to Sirius, Remus, and Peter. “I assumed you wouldn’t be home until this morning, and you’d think I was with my auntie, and you wouldn’t realize I was missing until—”

“That was yesterday,” Peter said.

She blinked.

“You’re right, I didn’t think to miss you when the sun came up yesterday,” James said, shaking his head. “I just crawled into bed, and went to sleep. But when I got up in the afternoon, I went to Minnie’s, and she said you hadn’t spent the night with her, and that was when I finally . . . Padfoot tracked you. We found your wand on the path to the cottage, and we realized what had happened. We spent the night looking for you, but we couldn’t find you. We couldn’t . . .” He swallowed. “Sirius tried to get in touch with his—”

Her auntie Apparated into the room, and breathed in sharply at the sight of her.

“I’m alright,” Lily promised.

“You’re hurt,” James said, rising to his feet, and he summoned his Patronus, sending a message to Pomfrey.

“What happened to you?” Auntie asked, her gaze sweeping over Lily.

Lily explained from the beginning: how she was knocked out, woke up at his family’s manor, and listened to them argue about what to do with her; how she was taken to Lestrange’s house, and tied up in the cellar, how Mulciber came to taunt her, and surely to do worse. “Don’t,” she said softly, shaking her head at the look on James’s face. “He didn’t have the chance to hurt me. I got away from him, and out of the house. I’m fine.”

“How did you get out?” Peter asked.

“I . . . Mulciber undid the bindings, and I was able to get away.”

James frowned.

Was she really going to leave it at that? They wouldn’t let her. She’d have to tell them the truth, or come up with a lie. Should she keep Regulus’s secret? She had to. He’d saved her, and that was all he’d asked of her in return. “I just want to sleep,” she said, sighing.

Dumbledore chose that moment to Apparate in, and Pomfrey followed.

Pomfrey didn’t hesitate for a second, setting her bag on the table, and rooting for what she needed while she assessed Lily. She barked a couple of questions at Lily, and waved her wand over Lily, pursing her lips when several complicated symbols made of smoke floated in the air above Lily. “The baby is fine,” she announced, and looked at Lily’s face. “How was this done?” She touched Lily’s cheek softly, and turned her face to assess her shut, bloodied eye. The pain had mostly subsided, though Lily couldn’t open the eye.

“I don’t know,” Lily said. “It was a nasty spell of some sort. It was like a spark.”

Pomfrey began rooting in her bag again.

Lily could hear her auntie talking softly to Dumbledore while Pomfrey used a spell to numb Lily’s face, and went to work, pulling a bottle from her bag, and uncorking it, dabbing a bit onto a cloth, and brushing it to Lily’s face. Pomfrey had pushed James out of the way upon her arrival, but he’d just moved to her side, and she was glad. She clutched his hand, and closed her good, unhurt eye, waiting for Pomfrey to be finished.

Pomfrey finished with her dabbing, poured something directly into Lily’s eye, and got out her bandages, wrapping it. “There,” she declared. “Keep it bandaged for a week. Change the bandage every evening, and every morning. Rub this poultice in it when you change the bandages.” She thrust the bottle at James, and rummaged in her bag, pulled a jar that contained a thick, purple cream. She rubbed the cream on Lily’s wrists. Lily hissed at the chill, and the feeling of needles it evoked in her raw, cut skin, but she watched her skin quickly start to stitch itself up, leaving behind lines of pink, healed skin.

“The marks will disappear completely within a week,” Pomfrey said.

“Her ankles are cut, too,” James said.

“I’m perfectly capable of assessing the state of my patient, thank you,” Pomfrey replied, and she knelt to rub the balm into Lily’s ankles. “I want you to rest after this,” she said. “That means a break from your work with the Order, Mrs. Potter. Do you hear me? _Rest_.”

“I will.”

James brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing the backs of her fingers.

“If you don’t mind my asking, who rescued you?” Dumbledore’s smile was kind, gentle.

“Rescued me?” She blinked.

“Minerva has told me of your capture,” he explained. “You say you escaped. Was your escape completely unaided?” His tone didn’t betray an accusation, but it felt like one.

“Yes,” she said. “I knocked out Mulciber, and since he’d undone my bindings, I was able to run. I got out of the cellar, and out of the house. I ended up in London, and a nice Muggle lady gave me the money for the bus, and a sandwich. Her, then. She helped me.”

Dumbledore smiled. “I’m very glad you’re alright, Lily.”

There was a pop, and Emmeline gasped when her eyes found Lily. “Oh, my _God!_ ” she cried, rushing to Lily, and Lily opened her arms for her. “I got James’s Patronus last night, and I was certain that I’d lost you, too, then I get another saying that you’re back, and I just—oh, Lily, you can’t leave me, alright?” She hugged Lily. "Not you, too. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Lily murmured.

“Our baby?” Emmeline asked, looking at Lily, and Lily couldn’t help smiling at that.

“Perfect,” she said.

Emmeline nodded, and smiled, pressing her cheek to Lily’s. “Good.”

Dumbledore left soon after that, Pomfrey, too, and her auntie.

“I hate to leave you,” she said, touching Lily’s hair. But she was needed, had work to do for the Order. Lily might have survived being captured, but that didn’t mean the nightmare was over. The war wasn’t over; they couldn’t pretend it was even for a day.

“It’s alright,” Lily said. “I need to rest, so that’s what I’m going to do. Go. I’m fine.”

She changed into fresh, clean pajamas, wanting to take a bath but suspecting she’d nod off in the tub. She climbed into bed, and James climbed in with her, cuddling her.

“I love you,” she whispered.

He kissed her hair. “I love you, too.”

“Our baby isn’t a bastard.”

He shifted, moving up on his elbow to frown at her, and her eyes burned with tears.

“We know,” Sirius said. He was standing in the doorway, but he met Lily’s gaze. “That baby is a Potter, and you are, too, and those fools are exactly that, Lily. Fools.”

 _You saved me_ , she wanted to say. _Your love for me saved me. He did it for you. He must have._

“You hear me?” he said.

“I hear you.”

“Sleep,” he ordered. “I’m going to make you shortcake.”

“You’re always making me shortcake.” She wiped at her cheeks.

“It’s your favorite,” he relied, dismissive. “Prongs, holler if she needs anything.”

“Yes, sir,” James said, settling in against Lily’s back again.

Lily closed her eyes, tugging James’s arm more securely around her. She was safe. Her baby was safe, too. They were safe, and it was _over_. But it wasn’t, was it? There were people who despised Lily simply for existing, who thought her baby was an abomination, and they wouldn’t stop going after her until they’d killed her, and killed her baby. In the stillness, and the safety of James’s arms, she grew suddenly, completely overwhelmed by everything, by how nearly she’d lost her life, lost her baby’s life, and she gave up trying to fight it.

James held her tighter. “I’m here,” he murmured. “Padfoot is downstairs. We’re here. We’re _here_ , love.” She cried in earnest, and he let her. “I’ve got you,” he breathed. She cried she until she was exhausted with it, and fell asleep at last.

\---

Remus found her working on the porch, tending to her flowers. They were wilting in the heat. He cleared his throat to announce his presence, and she spared him a smile.

“How are you?” he asked, leaning on the railing.

“Better than my geraniums,” she replied. She glared at the plants. “The next one of you to bite me is getting the scissors, you hear?” She waited for one to snap at her defiantly.

“I wanted to apologize.”

She glanced at him, puzzled. “For what?”

He sighed, looking so ashamed, and it made her worried. She tugged off her gloves, and like it knew she was searching his face in concern, a lock of his hair fell across his forehead to hide him; he hadn’t had a trim in weeks. “James shouldn’t have been with me that night,” he said. “You needed him, and I—”

“Remus.” She frowned.

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “It’s my fault what happened to you, and I—”

“Stop,” she said. “Remy _,_ I know you love to take the blame for everything, but this one isn’t on you.” She held his gaze, willing him to believe her. “I’m fine, and even if I weren’t, it wouldn’t be your fault. I promise. I wasn’t taken because of you. I was taken because those people are monsters, and I was walking in the dark at night by myself.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said.

“It wasn’t _your_ fault,” she replied. “You have to know that.”

He nodded.

“I know you don’t believe me, so I’ll say it again. _It wasn’t your fault_. This isn’t on you. But you have to give me a hug now, because you’ve made me upset. Come on. Bring it in.”

He laughed, and she tugged him into her arms. He was the lankiest of her friends, but he gave a good hug, and she squeezed him tight, resting her cheek on his shoulder for a moment. He was startled when the baby moved suddenly between them, and she smiled, and drew away from him, seeing his soft, small smile. “I’m glad you’re alright,” he said.

She bit her lip.

“What?”

“I _was_ rescued,” she told him. She didn’t know why it burst from her like that, but she needed to tell at least one person the truth, and she realized that he was the person.

He frowned. “You—”

“I couldn’t have gotten out on my own. But somebody came into the cellar, and stopped Mulciber before he could do much to me, and got me out of that hell, took me into London. I’m not supposed to say who it was, though. I said I’d keep it secret. Let me?”

“Sure.” He nodded. “Of course. Have you told Prongs that . . . ?”

“No.” She sighed. “He’d want to know who. He’d wrangle it out of me, and I . . .” She shook her head. “I need to do this, keep this secret. But I hate lying to everyone.”

“You aren’t lying to me,” he said.

“No,” she agreed, feeling the start of a smile. “Now I’m not lying to you. Oh!” She spun to glare at the guilty fanged plant. “Do you want me to prune you, you little shit?!”

\---

She wasn’t ready to have the baby. How could she possibly be ready to bring a baby into this world? She was certain when she started to get contractions that they weren’t _really_ contractions. It was impossible. She was eight months along, and the baby wasn’t coming yet. This was some kind of fake, false labor.

Emmeline grew anxious, though, and insisted that they go to St. Mungo’s.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Lily protested.

“It’s been happening for _hours_ , Lily, and you’re gritting your teeth so hard they’re going to crack! That’s it.” Emmeline stood. “We’re going. Your opinion is being ignored.”

Emmeline sent a Patronus to Lily’s aunt, and to James. Both of them were on missions.

The hospital wasn’t busy at dinnertime in the middle of the week, and Lily was ushered into a room quickly, and examined. Legs in stirrups, Lily explained clearly to the kindly, older Healer that she could not possibly be in labor yet. “Your chart says you aren’t due until August 27,” replied the Healer, agreeing. “But I’m afraid it looks like this baby doesn’t want to wait until August 27, Mrs. Potter, because you _are_ in labor.” She smiled.

“No,” Lily said.

“I don’t think this is supposed to be a discussion,” Emmeline said.

It turned out Emmeline was right, dammit.

Labor wasn’t quick, seeming to go on, and on, and _on_ , but Lily was glad for that, because it gave James time to get to her. She heard him before she saw him, and she sobbed in relief at the sound. “I’m here, I’m here, I’M HERE!” he shouted, skidding into the room. He was a sweaty, disheveled mess, and she’d never, ever been so glad to see him. She breathed his name before she was hit with a contraction, and she grit her teeth at the pain.

James sat behind her, holding her.

She did it. She couldn’t really believe it when it was over at last, and they put him in her arms.

Him. She had a _son_.

He was a truly tiny thing; he had soft, pinched skin, and a little pointed head that was dusted in dark, downy hair. She touched it reverently. His blue baby eyes squinted at her, and she was in love. “Hello, sweetheart,” she whispered. “Hello, my boy. I’m your mummy. I’m so happy to meet you, my sweet little boy. I love you. Mummy loves you.”

James brushed his fingers against the baby’s pink face; his hand seemed giant.

“I thought of a name,” Lily said. She touched the bow of her baby’s pink mouth, and looked at James. “Harry.”

“That’s what people called my grandfather.”

“I know. I like it, and I like that it’s a family name. I know I said I wanted a new name, but I like Harry, and—he _is_ a Potter. He should take pride in that, shouldn’t he?”

James smiled.

“I was thinking it could be Harry James Potter,” she continued. “What do you think?”

He kissed her. “Perfect.”

“We _made_ him,” she whispered.

“He looks like Minnie.”

She laughed. “No. No, he looks like you. See his mouth? That’s your mouth.”

They stayed in St. Mungo’s for the rest of the day, and the next.

Emmeline got food for them, and helped Lily figure out how to get Harry to nurse.

Her auntie returned from her mission, and came immediately to the hospital, bringing a tartan patterned blanket for Harry. It took Lily a couple of tries to swaddle Harry correctly in it, but she figured it out, and her auntie was teary-eyed when she held him.

The boys came, too, after they got back from the mission that James had abandoned. They crowded the bed, and James showed Sirius how to hold Harry, to cradle him.

“He’s cute,” Peter said.

“He’s _brilliant_ ,” Sirius said, grinning at Harry.

She looked at Harry in his arms, and thought she might cry. _You’re so loved, sweetheart._

She was eager to go home when they were allowed at last; she was desperate for a nice long bath, and to sleep in her own big bed. She took Harry up to the nursery for a nap as soon as they went in, only to stop in the door, and gape. Overnight, a collection of a hundred dragon plushies had taken over the room. They were sitting on the shelves, on the windowsill, on the rug; half a dozen were dangling over the cot, several were guarding the basket of nappies, and more were sitting on top of the rest of the plushies.

“I . . .”

“He’s got a fleet of them at his command, see?” James said, coming up behind her.

She saw, and her heart swelled with affection. “Harry, look at the dragons!” she breathed. “Look how much Daddy loves you. He got you a fleet of dragons! You’ll be a sorcerer, and take the world by storm. We’ll do it together, sweetheart. Dada got us a whole fleet!”

James chuckled, hugging her shoulders. “I love you.”

She felt herself tear up with exhaustion, and hormones, and how very much she loved her husband. “We love you, too,” she said, leaning into his side. “Don’t we, Harry?” She looked at her baby. “Yes, we do.” She titled her head up to look at James, and he smiled. “We love you so much,” she told him.


	5. Chapter 5

She returned to working for the Order little by little, wanting to ease into it.

She wanted to help, but it was hard for to leave her baby. She didn’t like being away from him. Her body didn’t either. She spent a day on recon with the twins about a month after Harry was born, and, when she agreed to it, didn’t even think about the state it would leave her in. She pumped before she went, and left plenty of bottles for James to give to Harry, but.

She stumbled from the fireplace, ignored Peter’s hello, and tore off her shirt, tossing it. She was _desperate_. “Give me a baby,” she demanded, and began to unhook her bra.

“Whoa!” Peter spun on his heel.

“What’s the matter?” She made grabby motions at James until she had Harry in her arms, and she sank onto the sofa, sighing with relief when Harry began to nurse. She’d truly been about to _burst_. She looked up, smiling at her boys.

Peter was staring at the wall.

“I think Wormtail might be afraid of your breasts,” Sirius said.

“Oh.” She blinked. “Hasn’t he seen them? I thought everyone had seen them at this point. Sorry, Pete.”

“I’m fine,” Peter said. “I just, um. Well, I’ll leave you to it, shall I?”

“I don’t mind if you stay.”

“It’s fine!” He waved a hand. “I’ve got things to do anyway.” He skirted from the room.

Sirius sat beside her, throwing his arm over her shoulder, and handing her a glass of water.

“How was the mission?” James asked.

“Fine.” She watched Harry nursing. Dumbledore had wanted to believe that Malfoy was not yet working for Voldemort, but Lily had seen it. She’d seen _him_ , had watched him torture a woman. “How was my baby?” she asked. She didn’t want to talk about Malfoy.

“Padfoot let him drink his pee.”

She stared.

“I didn’t _let_ him drink his pee,” Sirius protested. “ _He_ decided to pee in the middle of my changing his nappy like the loving, attentive godfather I am, and it wasn’t my fault that the pee _happened_ to travel in arc, and hit him in the face.”

“You leapt out of the way!” James said.

“He was _peeing_!”

“If you really loved him, you would’ve taken the hit for him.”

“If _you_ really loved him, you wouldn’t have just stood there laughing your arse off.”

“You’re both awful,” Lily announced, shaking her head at them, and looking at her sweet, sweet baby, at her good little eater. She looked up. “And I’m never letting either of you look after my son again.”

\---

They began to suspect that there was a spy in the Order. It seemed so unfathomable, but they were thwarted at every single turn, and what was the alternative? They planned to stop an attack only for the attack to take place early. They were escorting a known Death Eater from the Ministry to Azkaban, and were ambushed, and lost their prisoner. They were going to put up wards to protect an orphanage, but arrived to find the orphanage had burned to the ground. Someone in the Order was leaking their plans, their information.

“Who do you think it is?” Lily asked, accepting a cup of tea from her auntie.

Auntie sighed. “I trust you, and I trust Albus.”

“What about James?” Lily asked.

“James, too,” Auntie said. “He loves you. He would not betray you.”

Lily nodded. “It isn’t Sirius, or—”

“Or Remus, or Peter? Or Emmeline? Or the twins, or Benjy, or any of your friends?”

“Auntie.” Lily frowned.

“It could be Sirius, you know. He is Pureblood, and there were times at Hogwarts, after all, when he showed a certain self-assured, _unkind_ disregard for those he felt were—”

“Sirius isn’t the spy,” Lily said, half-shocked, and half-furious.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do, too!”

Auntie sighed. “I do not _want_ to believe it, and, truthfully, I do not believe it. I cannot. Regardless, I cannot trust him. The truth that I have no idea who _is_ the spy, which means I cannot trust anyone. You do not want to imagine that anyone you care about is betraying you, and neither do I, but there _is_ a spy in the Order. There must be. Someone we consider a friend _is_ betraying us, and if I rely on my affections to decide whom I trust, I trust the spy.”

Lily was quiet.

“I am sorry, my dear. I do not mean to be cruel. Truthfully, I . . .” She shook her head. “I am more frightened now of what’s to come than I have been in a long, long time.”

“I know,” Lily said. “Me, too.”

Harry stirred. “Let me,” Auntie said, rising to fetch him from his little, kitchen cot.

Lily watched her pick him up, and hush him. He was still so little. He’d grown bigger, grown chubbier, but he remained a baby. Her baby. Sirius called him a loaf of baby when he was wrapped up in blankets like a bun, and he was; he was a sweet, warm little bun of a baby. He’d started to respond to them more, though. He wanted their attention, followed them around the room with his gaze, smiled when they smiled. She adored him.

“I do not believe Emmeline is capable of betraying Marlene’s memory,” Auntie said.

Lily drew her gaze up from Harry to look at her aunt.

“I trust her, too.”

Lily nodded. “You’re right, though,” she said. In the end, Lily couldn’t just steadfastly trust her friends because, in the end, one of her friends was betraying her. It was unfathomable, but it was the truth. “I know someone is betraying us, but I . . . I just don’t know how I’m supposed to stop trusting everyone I love. It feels like I’d be betraying _them._ ”

“I know, my dear.” Auntie smiled softly. “But you cannot lose your faith in yourself.”

That night, Dorcas was killed.

Voldemort came into her home in the middle of the night, and murdered her.

Lily stared at everyone in the Order, and wondered, trying to believe one of them was a spy. Diggle? Podmore? Doge? It had to be one of them, right? She was flooded with guilt. It was easy for her to suspect the members she wasn’t really friends with, wasn’t it? She looked at Benjy, at the twins, at Peter. No. She looked at Edgar. _No._ It couldn’t be.

Three weeks later, she found the camera that Dorcas gave them.

It had been a wedding gift, and Lily hadn’t ever taken it out of the box. She took it out now. It was made by Muggles, but it produced a picture almost instantly. In her neat, cursive script, Dorcas had written a set of instructions for developing the pictures to make them move. _I like them when they don’t move, though. There’s something about capturing a single perfect moment in time that seems so rare, and so special._ Lily read the note through twice.

She hadn’t even got to know Dorcas well, but she’d like her. She’d been older, widowed, and very, very kind.

James returned from a mission while Lily was fiddling with the camera, and he touched a hand to the top of her head in greeting before he sank into a chair, sighing. “What’s that?” he asked, and he stretched his legs out until his feet nudged her leg under the table.

“It’s a camera,” Lily said. “Dorcas gave it to us, and I’d forgotten about it.”

“What are you going to take a picture of?”

She looked at him. “I was thinking a single perfect moment in time.”

“Sure.”

“Where’s Sirius?”

“He went to report to Albus. I begged off. I just wanted to come home, and see you.” He smiled. He looked tired, ragged. He needed to shave, and to wash, and faint red marks circled his eyes; he must’ve been hit in the face, and his glasses had pressed into his skin with the force of the hit, bruising him. She had a salve for that. “You alright?” he asked.

“Not really.”

He reached for her hands, and she gave them to him, smiling when he pressed his cheek into her palm.

“Here,” she said, and she took off his glasses, folded them, and place them on the table, then leaned in, ghosting her fingers over the marks on his face. She leaned in closer, pressing her lips to them. He let out a breath, closing his eyes, and she pushed her fingers into his hair, touching her forehead to his. He tilted his face, and kissed her on the lips.

“Lily,” he breathed. “Could we . . . ?”

She nodded, and reached for his hand. “Come on.”

He followed her up the stairs, and they were careful to be quiet, tiptoeing in the hallway, and closing the door of their bedroom. They had to be quiet; Harry was sleeping.

He took her face in his hands, and kissed her, scratching her cheek with his stubble. She began to pull on his t-shirt, and he lifted his arms, letting her tug it off, and toss it; his hands went to the buttons of her blouse, and she helped him. They stripped off their clothes, and he walked her back to the bed, kissing and kissing her, pressing her into the mattress.

She ran her hands up his back, gasping to the ceiling when he kissed her neck.

His hands were warm on her thighs, sliding up, and down, and she opened her legs wider for him. He shifted his weight, and slipped his hand between her thighs, stroking, and teasing. He pressed a finger into her, and she hissed at the sensitivity, rocking slightly against the palm of his hand.

She kissed him desperately, and tugged at his shoulders. “Inside me,” she breathed.

She felt him pushing at her entrance, and her fingers dug into the skin of his shoulders; he groaned when he pushed into her completely in a single sudden thrust. She gasped his name. “I missed this,” he murmured. “ _Fuck_ , I missed this. I missed you.” He pressed his lips to her neck, panting, and the flush of his hot, wet breath made her stomach coil tighter, made her grind her hips, and he swore, and tilted his hips up, fucking her slowly, making her desperate.

She cried out when she started to come, forgetting to be quiet.

His thrusts lost their finesse after that, and she clutched at his shoulders, breathless and smiling and relishing in aftershocks of pleasure, and she whispered into his ear, urging him on. It didn’t take much longer; he collapsed on her, and she hugged him, letting him catch his breath. She needed to catch her breath, too.

She turned her head to look at him after, lying stark naked on the bed.

He turned his head, too, meeting her gaze.

His smile was lazy, and sweet, and her heart was suddenly too big for her ribcage. “I’ll be back,” she told him softly, and she nipped a kiss to his lips, grabbed his shirt from the ground, and slipped it on, and went to fetch the camera from the kitchen. His lips twitched with amusement when she climbed onto the bed with it in hand, sitting on her knees, and looking through the tiny little viewer at him. “Smile.”

He grinned, and she snapped it.

The Polaroid took a couple of minutes to develop, and she laughed when she saw it: his grin was open-mouthed, and ridiculous, his cheeks were flushed, his hair was wild, and he looked naked without his spectacles, _was_ naked, and you could see his bare shoulders.

Dorcas was right; she liked it that way. It was a perfect moment in time, and she wanted to keep it.

He assessed the picture. “It’s just . . ."

“What?”

“I’m _so_ attractive.”

She snorted, and smacked a kiss to his cheek, plucking the photo from his hand to put it safely on the little beside table, and flopping onto her back again. “I have a cream for those bruises,” she said. She traced her gaze over his face. “I made it myself, and Remy let me test it on him. It worked.”

“You know what I love about you?”

She raised her eyebrows.

“Everything.” He looked at her, earnest, and she couldn’t help laughing. “All of you.”

“You’ve already gotten into my pants,” she told him.

“I know.”

“Repeatedly.”

He sighed.

“I helped you reproduce.”

He shushed her with a kiss, and, speak of the devil, there was a sudden, rising wail from the nursery. “Now look what you’ve done,” he said, sighing at her. She smiled, and he rolled off the bed, and moved to his feet, padding out of the bedroom to fetch their baby.

Peter gave them the news in the morning.

It was the twins.

The scone turned to ash in her mouth, and Peter continued, saying that they’d put up a fight but they’d been outnumbered, and they’d been slaughtered. They had always fought together, and now they had died together. Lily began crying before she’d even fully grasped what Peter was saying. They were dead. Gideon, _and_ Fabian. The twins. _Gone_.

At the funeral, she saw that their sister had a baby in her arms.

She clutched Harry closer to her chest, swaying on her feet, and James took her weight when she leaned into him. They said it was darkest before the dawn, but they neglected to mention how long it was darkest for.

\---

The house was a wreck when Dumbledore sent a Patronus to say that he was stopping by for a visit that afternoon.

 _I need to talk to you about something,_ said his phoenix.

Lily panicked. She put Remus in charge of Harry, and handed out assignments to the rest of them. “Padfoot, you’re in charge of the kitchen. I don’t need Dumbledore dying in an avalanche of dishes because he sneezed next to the sink. Jamie, you’ve got the loo. Just do the one downstairs for now. Wormtail, you’re on pick up with me. Get everything under a sofa, or in a cupboard! The goal is to give the illusion that we don’t live in filth!”

Overall, she thought it worked out well.

James even made the loo smell nice with some fancy spell.

They had a kettle on when Dumbledore knocked on the door, and Lily was glad, because it turned out that her auntie had come with him. They should’ve made biscuits, too.

“Where is Harry?” Dumbledore asked, taking a seat.

“Napping,” James said.

“What is this about?” Lily asked. “I’m happy to have you over anytime, of course, but . . . this is _about_ something, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

James put a hand on Lily’s knee.

“Not long ago, I heard a prophecy,” he continued. “I thought I alone had heard it, and I decided to keep it a secret, fearing the consequences should Voldemort learn of it, and seek to act on it. You see, the prophecy predicts who will have the power to defeat him.”

“This is good, isn’t it?” Peter said.

Dumbledore sighed. “I’m afraid it isn’t as simple as that.” He hesitated.

“What?” Lily said.

“The prophecy doesn’t give a name, or a way to defeat him. Instead, it says simply that the one with the power to defeat Voldemort will be born as the seventh month dies to parents who have faced Voldemort three times, and lived to tell it.” He met Lily’s gaze.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Harry?” Sirius said, incredulous. “The baby who farts when you tickle him?”

“He was born at the end of July, and to parents who have faced Voldemort three times, and lived to tell of it. I know of two such boys. Harry, and Neville Longbottom.”

“It isn’t Harry,” Lily said. “It isn’t.”

“I’m afraid that choice isn’t up to you,” Dumbledore said. “The prophecy goes on to say that Voldemort will mark the boy as his equal. Voldemort will choose which boy it is.”

“Does Voldemort know about the prophecy?” James asked.

“Yes,” Lily said. She glared. “That’s why you’re telling us about this now, isn’t it? You heard the prophecy, and kept it a secret for months. You never _wanted_ to tell us. But you’re telling us now, because Voldemort knows, and he’s going to come for my baby.”

His gaze was sad. “I should have told you sooner.”

“He knows?” Sirius said. “Voldemort knows about the prophecy?”

“I believe he has learned of it, yes, and, if he has not already, he will soon realize whom it could apply to. Once he does, you are no longer safe. He will want to assure that the prophecy cannot come true, and he will do everything in his power therefore to see to it.”

Lily shook her head.

“What do we do?” James asked. “Could we fake his death? Harry’s?” He looked at Sirius.

Sirius nodded. “We could fake his death, and yours.”

“I’m afraid it is unlikely that Voldemort will be so easily deterred,” Dumbledore said. “If he cannot take your son’s life himself, he will want to see proof that someone else did. He will not be fooled at a rumor of your death, or even at a fire, or another such scheme.”

“What’s that leave us?” Lily asked.

It was Remus who figured it out. “You have to go into hiding,” he said.

“Yes,” said her auntie. Lily looked at her. Had she known about the prophecy? She must have known. “We can use the Fidelius Charm, and hide you in plain sight.”

It wasn’t a choice.

James squeezed Lily’s knee, and nodded. “Okay.”

“You’ll need to select a Secret Keeper,” Dumbledore said. “One person who will know your location, and be able to give it to others. I am the Keeper for the Order’s headquarters. If you would like, I can be the Keeper for you, too. I’d be glad to do it.”

“What about Sirius?” Lily said.

James nodded.

“I can do it,” Sirius said. He looked at Lily, at James. “I’d die before I’d give you up.”

“No,” said her auntie. “I will do it.”

“Don’t you trust me, Minnie?” Sirius teased.

Lily thought about what her auntie had told her months ago.

“It is not about _you_ , Mr. Black.” She looked at Lily. “I have already decided. I am going to do it. This is my family, and my responsibility. I will be your Keeper. I will do it.”

“You don’t have to,” James said.

“I’m as good as family,” Sirius said, affronted. “You think I’d give them up?”

“It _is_ better for someone who isn’t family but who is loved, and trusted _like_ family be the Keeper, Minerva,” Dumbledore said. “That’s the way the charm is intended to be cast.”

“I do not care if that is the way it was _intended_ to be cast!” she snapped.

James frowned, and opened his mouth.

But her auntie wasn’t finished yet. “James Potter, I have known you since the day you were born, and loved you as dearly as I loved your mother, so you will close your mouth, and you will listen to me. This is _not_ a _discussion_.” Her eyes went to Sirius, and to Dumbledore. “I told you _I have already decided._ If a murderous, sociopathic dark wizard wants to get to my daughter, he will have to go through me first!”

It was silent.

“You do it, Auntie,” Lily said.

Dumbledore smiled.

"When should we do it?" James asked.

“The charm?" Dumbledore said. "I  suggest as soon as possible. Once it's performed, it is best that the two of you try to stay indoors whenever possible.” He looked from James to Lily, and back. “It will mean you won’t be able to do much for the Order, but I am not worried about the Order. I am worried about you, and this will keep you safe. You, and your son. It will be more difficult than you realize, but I believe you’ll be able to do it.”

James nodded.

“We’ll help out,” Peter said, and Sirius nodded. “Get you groceries, and everything.”

“Groceries?” Lily said. “Surely, we . . .”

“Did you miss the part where you’ll be in hiding?” Sirius teased. But his gaze was soft, apologetic, and Lily managed a small, tight smile.

If they had to do this to keep Harry safe, they would.

“I know this is all happening very quickly, Lily,” Dumbledore said.

“It’s fine.”

He nodded. “Tomorrow, then,” he said. “That’ll give us this evening to prepare. In the morning, we’ll perform the spell, and you’ll be safe.”

\---

Dumbledore was right. It was _hard_ to hide, to be cooped up inside their house while their friends were fighting in a war. They didn’t actually go into hiding the very next day, though; Moody suggested that they first move to a house that was a little more secluded to begin with. At her auntie’s suggestion, they moved to a cottage in Godric’s Hollow, and, a week after they learned of the prophecy, they were hidden from the world. In less than a day, Lily grew restless just thinking about the fact they couldn’t leave the house.

They found ways to pass the time at first, of course.

They had to move in to the cottage properly, and decorate, and that took up some time.

Lily filled the place up with her plants, and with her cauldrons, and began to make a store of potions. It was how she’d continued to help the Order when she was pregnant, and unable to help in the field; she’d been the source for potions, for salves, and for poisons, and for everything in between. She’d decided that she’d _still_ be the source, and it kept her busy at least for a bit.

They experimented with cooking, and ate pie for dinner on the floor of the kitchen. They took in a brown, scraggly-looking cat that meowed at their door during a snowstorm. James thought it was an Animagus at first, and made her lock it in the loo, and they spent a day researching spells to test the cat’s identity. In the end, their extensive testing determined the cat was a cat, and they named him Rhubarb because he ate a lot of it, and got the runs. They played Quidditch in the house, breaking nearly everything they owned.

They celebrated Harry’s birthday. He was growing big, was turning into a _person_.

“Where’s Harry?” she asked, and he pointed at himself. “Where’s Dada?” she asked, and he pointed at James, and gurgled. “Where’s Mama?” she asked, and she sucked on the tip of his finger when he pointed at her, making him squeal, and giggle. He loved to be tickled, and to give high fives, and to carry a Snitch with him wherever he toddled. He liked to copy James’s face, sticking his tongue out when James stuck his tongue out, making clicking noises when James made clicking noises, and furrowing his brow when James furrowed his brow. “Do you love your Dada?” Lily gushed, and he clapped.

He liked to snuggle with Lily before he went to sleep at night, and that was her favorite.

She’d hold him, and rock him, and sing him to sleep.

Her voice was awful, but Harry certainly never complained, and James pressed kisses to her throat after, and teased that her voice was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard.

He was full of it, and she loved him.

They hadn’t had this much sex since school, hadn’t had the time for it. Now time was all they had.

Harry needed to nap, after all, and to sleep twelve hours a night.

James lifted her onto the counter, and she hiked up her dress while he pulled her pants off; he stepped in closer, and she wrapped her legs around him, kissing him, and tasting apple cinnamon pie on his tongue. She straddled him on the bed, and pushed his arms up over his head, making him take hold of the headboard, and telling him that he couldn’t touch her, that she was going to make him come just by riding him, by fucking him senseless. He kissed the knots of her spine, and pulled her hips up, pushing into her from behind, and she pressed her face into her pillow to keep herself from yelling his name.

They talked about the future in whispers after, lying on their stomachs in bed. It was only right to whisper, because the future was something holy, something reverent, and deserving of hushed, secret words. They imagined the future the way they wanted it to be.

It was bittersweet, knowing that every possible future was followed by a silent, unspoken _if we win this war_.

“Harry will be in Gryffindor, of course,” James said, _if we win this war_. “And he’ll play Quidditch” _if we win this war_. “He’ll get into loads of mischief with his friends” _if we win this war_. “And we’ll go to the matches, and cheer him up so loudly that he’ll be mortified, and hate our guts” _if we win this war_. James grinned. “It’ll be brilliant,” he promised, _if we win this war._

They had to win the war. What was the alternative? They couldn’t spend the rest of their life in this house, hiding, and having their friends drop by with groceries on Tuesdays.

“Do you want more?” James asked.

“More?”

“Kids.” He smiled. “Not for a while, obviously. Eventually. If you wanted.”

She nodded. “Yes,” she said. “Definitely.” She kissed him. They would have more kids _if we win this war_. They’d give Harry the brother that James had found in Sirius _if we win this war._ They’d have a daughter, too, _if we win this war_. “We can have a whole Quidditch team of kids if you want,” she told him, _if we win this war_ , and she laughed.

She tried not to think too much about if Voldemort was searching for them. He must be.

Time passed, and they remained in their house. Trapped. _Safe_.

Benjy was murdered. The Order wasn’t able to recover his body; there wasn’t enough of it left.

Emmeline visited, and gifted them with a book called _101 Spells to Keep Your Toddler Safe, Happy, and Loved._ Her mother had recommended it. Lily read it cover to cover, using it to babyproof the house.

The house _needed_ to be babyproofed these days, or, more accurately, toddler-proofed.

Harry was _fast_.

Visits from people were growing fewer, and further between, though. Emmeline was spending half of her time in France, trying to rally a base of support for the Order. Remus was infiltrating the werewolves who worked for Voldemort. Sirius didn’t want to talk about Remus, because he was convinced that Remus was the spy, and his visits were sparser, too, because he was needed to track his cousin. Peter was helping to guard Hogwarts; it shocked Lily that it _needed_ to be guarded.

“I should be helping, too,” James said.

“You are,” Lily said. “You’re helping to protect your family.”

Somehow, it turned into a fight.

He was cold to her, and it made her angry. This wasn’t her fault, and he couldn’t put it on her. “You _wanted_ to marry me,” she said. “You _wanted_ a baby. I didn’t do this. I didn’t force any of this on you!” He snapped back at her, telling her he wasn’t saying she had _forced_ anything on him, but he couldn’t stay in this house. He couldn’t. He needed to get out; he needed to _fight_. It wasn’t like he could give up Harry’s location even under torture. He wasn’t the Keeper. “No.” She shook her head. “No way. You don’t get to run off, and leave me here!”

“I’m going batshit in this house!” he yelled.

“Do you think I’m having the time of my life?” she screamed.

“It’s different!”

She was incredulous. “How is it _different_?”

“You’re his mother!”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re, you know, you’re supposed to stay at home with him! You’re his mother! You _like_ giving him baths, and putting him to sleep at night, and everything.”

“Excuse me?”

He sighed. “Don’t.”

“I’m _supposed_ to stay at home with him?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He shook his head. “I just meant—”

“I think it’s perfectly clear what you meant," she hissed, "and you know what? You can go fuck yourself. Seriously. If you want to run around with your mates while I stay at home like the good little wife I am, _fine_. Go ahead. Clearly, I’ve misunderstood the role of a father. Go on, James. Write to Sirius, and tell him you’ll meet him in London. But when you come back— _if_ you come back—don’t you climb into my bed. Don’t you touch me, don’t you even _look_ at me.”

“Lily.”

“I need to go feed your son,” she spat.

He left.

She was in the kitchen, scooping out an avocado for Harry, and she heard the door slam shut after him. She assumed he Apparated as soon as he was in the yard.

She sent a Patronus to Emmeline. It was probably a misuse of the system, but she needed to complain. _I hate James_ , she said, and the doe pranced off. Half an hour, and Emmeline’s horse trotted in, and promised to visit Lily soon, and to bring a bottle of wine to bitch to. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and it made Lily miss her friend.

She was _supposed_ to stay at home? She hated him. He was a selfish, immature asshole.

He wasn’t back by the time she went to bed.

She woke in the morning, groggy, and rubbing her eyes, and sat up with a start when she saw the clock, and saw it was eight. Harry slept in until seven on the best of days, and that was rare. She panicked, stumbling out of the bed, and down the hallway to check on him. The door to the nursery was open, allowing her to hear his sweet giggle before she went in, and saw him.

He was playing on the floor with James.

He looked up when he saw her, pointing. She smiled. “Hi, baby,” she greeted, and she came into the room, moving to sit with them. “Hello, my baby. Can you say hello?”

“Hello!” he repeated. He toddled onto her lap, and gave her a hug.

“Hug,” she sang. “We’re hugging. Hug.”

“Ug,” he said, and he toddled away again, returning to his toys. He picked up his Snitch, and showed it to Lily. “Ball!” She nodded, and repeated it back. “Ball!” He giggled.

“When did you get back?” she asked.

“Late last night,” James said. His voice was tired. “I slept in here with Harry.”

“What did you do?”

“I met Padfoot at a pub, and got drunk, listened to him yell at me.”

Harry sat down in Lily’s lap, wiggling until he was comfortable, and opening his book upside down.

“Is that a book?” Lily asked. “Book?"

“Book,” Harry said.

“I’m sorry,” James said. She looked at him. “I shouldn’t have lost it, and gone off on you, yelling, and—saying that stuff. You know I didn’t mean it. That I don’t think that.”

“Do I?”

Harry babbled, pointing at a cow in his book. “Moo!”

“I hope you do. I didn’t mean it. Just sometimes it seems like you—like you’re handling this, like it’s not that bad for you, and, meanwhile, I feel like I’m going crazy, and—”

“I’m going crazy, too,” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

She reached out, brushing the hair away from his face. He leaned into her touch. “Go take a bath,” she told him. “You smell like a pub. Then get some sleep in a bed, alright?”

“You forgive me?”

“Moo, moo, moo,” Harry sang.

“I’m only handling this because I’m not in it on my own,” she said. “Don’t make me be in it on my own. Please.”

“I won’t.”

She nodded.

James took a bath, and a nap, and after she’d given Harry lunch, she put him down for a nap, too, and crawled into bed with James. Light was pouring in despite the curtains, making the bedroom glow. James pulled her into his arms, and she pulled him on top of her.

“I love you,” he promised, kissing her.

In the morning, Emmeline visited.

She said the Order hadn’t heard anything from Remus in weeks, and they suspected that he was the spy, or had been the spy before he’d vanished. James bristled, but Emmeline didn’t notice. “There’s more,” she said. Edgar Bones was killed, and his family was killed with him, including his three little kids. “The funeral was on Wednesday,” she said.

Emmeline did bring a bottle of wine with her, though they didn’t drink it.

She left, and Lily drank it later, passing out at the table.

James must’ve carried her to bed, because she woke up bundled in sheets. Safe. Hiding. Remus had vanished, and was likely dead, and what was she doing about it? Nothing.

She _couldn’t_ do anything about it.

Time passed. They taught Rhubarb to roll over, and to play dead. James transformed into a stag, and trotted around the house with Harry on his back, holding onto his antlers. They invented their own board game that Sirius claimed was way too complicated, and rigged to keep him from winning. Lily made a scrapbook of her time at Hogwarts. James grew a beard, and Lily threatened to withhold sex until he shaved the scruff. They listened to Quidditch on the radio. Lily made flowers grow up from the floorboards, and Harry ran around, laughing, and trying to pluck each flower as soon as it sprang up.

Her auntie visited them, and brought them groceries, staying to give them the news, and to play with Harry. Lily had never seen her auntie look so thin, so _old_. Her hair was in disarray; her face was pale, sunken. “It’s good to see you,” Auntie said, and she smiled.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Lily said, clasping her auntie’s hands in her own.

James woke her up early in the morning.

“What?” she griped. She peeked an eye at the clock, and saw it was _five._ “Is it snowing?”

“Nope! It’s the opposite of snowing! Come on.”

“The opposite of snowing?” She huffed. “It’s _five_ in the morning! You know you aren’t allowed to wake me up this early unless you want to have sex on your birthday, or it’s snowing!”

“This is _better_ than snow!”

She let him drag her out of bed, and down the stairs. “Honestly, Jamie,” she grumbled.

“Welcome!”

She gaped.

“I was up all night doing it,” he said. “I would be exhausted, but I’m too excited.”

He’d transformed the downstairs. Completely. The ceiling was a clear, sunny sky, and the floor was a _lake_. The couches were gone, and the tables, and the lamps, and the shelves. Transfigured. Now there was a dock, blankets on a little grassy shore, an umbrella for shade.

“ _James_.”

“Now what do you have to say about Transfiguration, eh?”

“Did I just hear a seagull?”

He grinned. “Yes, you did. That’d be the kettle. I hope you didn’t want any tea, ‘cause, you know, seagulls don’t make tea. I’ll turn it back into a kettle after, though!”

“I can’t believe you did this,” she said. “I can’t believe I didn’t _hear_ you doing this.”

He shrugged. “I’m stealthy.”

“Clearly.”

“Go put on your suit! I’ll get Harry up, and get his suit on.” He frowned. “Does he have a suit? I’ll transform his pajamas. Hurry! This lake isn’t going to be here forever!”

She laughed, and pulled him in for a kiss. “I love you.”

Harry had the time of his life in the pool, clinging to Lily, and kicking his short chubby legs in the water. James sent little, gentle waves at him, and Harry laughed, and slapped his hands on the water, and Lily helped him to splash James back. She held him so he was floating on his back, and he liked that, too, sighing the sweetest, funniest baby sigh.

They ate sandwiches for lunch, and sundaes for dessert.

Lily teased James that she was going to expect a fun snow day next. It was the middle of November, after all. He protested that weather was way too complicated. “It took me three whole hours to do that sky!” he exclaimed, pointing. “ _Hours_ , Lily!” She laughed.

James took Harry up for a nap, and Lily closed he eyes, floating on her back.

She felt something cold prick her check. It happened again, and again. She opened her eyes, and laughed when she realized there was a cloud in the sky, snowing on her.

James grinned.

He dove in the water, and the cloud went away, leaving them to play under the sun like they used to in the lake, racing, and splashing.

Afterward, he sat on the edge of the dock with his cock out of his pants, and she stood in between his legs, resting her arms on his thighs, and taking him in her mouth, sucking him off, and letting him rock his hips slightly, and fuck her mouth. He fisted a hand around the strings at the back her bikini top when he was close, and very nearly tore it off when he came.

She’d bought the bikini with Marlene when they were eighteen, and happy.

She’d never actually had the chance to wear it out.

Marlene had teased that the bright, happy blue would distract people from Lily’s pale, pasty skin.

She began to cry, and James slipped easily into the water, gathering her up in his arms. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “Today’s been really nice, and you did all of this for us, and I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t even know why I’m crying. I just—” He shook his head, and held her tighter. “I’m sorry,” she said, and she clung to him, burying her face in his neck.

She calmed, and fetched Harry when he woke.

She wanted him to be able to enjoy the water for a little bit longer before James had to right the room, and transfigure everything back the way it should be.

They didn’t talk about how she’d cried, because they both knew there weren’t words.

This wasn’t the life they were supposed to have.

Sirius, Peter, Emmeline, _and_ her auntie were supposed to come for Christmas, but none of them showed up. Sirius came late in the evening, though, and he was a bloody, battered mess. He explained that the Ministry had fallen. It was Christmas, and Voldemort was ruling the country.

There was nothing they could do.

Their friends would go on fighting with the rest of the Order, trying to combat Voldemort however they could, whenever they could, and they would go on hiding, staying in their house with their baby, and waiting for something to happen.

\---

It was a stormy, miserable April that year. The cottage grew humid despite the spells that Lily used to counter the hot, muggy weather, and, worse, the sounds of storms woke Harry up earlier than she deemed entirely human. He’d found a way to make her hate storms more.

After a night when she’d stayed up late drinking with James, she couldn’t bear getting up when he woke with a screech.

She brought him into the bed with her.

She lay on her back, and kept am arm loosely on him, keeping him trapped. He wiggled about in the space, babbled to himself, turned the pages in a book. She dozed. Sort of. She couldn’t just leave him to crawl off the bed, after all, and bash his head on the floor.

He seemed to go still after a while, though, and the room was quiet.

He’d fallen asleep again.

Suddenly, a tiny, toddler finger went up her nose.

“Nose,” Harry said.

She laughed. He giggled, too, and she opened her eyes, and rolled, scooping him closer to smack a bunch of wet, loud kisses to his nose. “Nose,” she said. “Mwah. Mwah. Mwah.”

He laughed, and squealed, and grabbed tiny fistfuls of her hair, of her pajamas.

James sighed, and shifted.

She grinned. “Harry, where’s Daddy’s nose?”

Harry blinked.

“Where’s Daddy’s nose?” she repeated.

“Daddy?” He pointed.

She nodded. “Where’s Daddy’s nose?” She pointed at James, too.

Harry smacked James’s nose.

James reared back, and Harry laughed, and Lily gave him another happy, smacking kiss.

“Sure,” James grumbled. “Team up on Daddy. I see how it’s going to be.”

“Aw, Daddy,” she said.

“Aw,” Harry repeated, poking James’s cheek.

“You know we love you! Let’s give Daddy a hug, Harry. Let’s cuddle with him.” She scooted in closer to James, sandwiching Harry between them. “Hug us back, Dada!”

He wrapped an arm around them.

“Hug,” Lily sang.

James pinched her butt.

She laughed, and kissed a wiggling, babbling Harry before James lifted him up in the air, making him fly, and starting a commentary on the young new Potter in the air, stealing the Quaffle, and faking out a Slytherin, and _score!_ Ten points for Gryffindor! Harry shrieked with laughter. Outside, the rolls of thunder grew louder.

\---

Sirius came by unexpectedly, and the moment she saw him, Lily knew that something truly terrible must’ve happened.

James stood up from the table.

“Peter was taken,” Sirius said, and his breathing was hard, panicked.

“When?”

“It hasn’t even been an hour! We can still get him back! He managed to send a Patronus to me. They broke into his house, and there was a fight, but his message said that he knew he wouldn’t be able to get out; I Apparated as soon as I got it, and the house was destroyed, and he was gone. I sent a Patronus to Dumbledore, but I haven’t gotten a response yet, and—I can’t get him back myself, but if we’re going to get him back, we’ve got to hurry, and—and, Prongs, I know that you aren’t supposed to leave your house—”

“Go,” Lily said, looking at James.

He hesitated.

“We can’t lose him, too,” she told him. “Go. Get him back.”

James nodded. “Do you know where to start?”

“My cousin,” Sirius said, clenching his jaw. “Peter said she was leading them.” James pulled on his coat while Sirius went on, saying that he knew where Bella would’ve taken Wormtail because he’d been shadowing the harpy for months, and Lily stood, handing James his wand. Sirius paused. “I’ll bring him back soon,” he said, soft. “Wormtail, too.”

“Good,” she said.

James kissed her, and held her face in his hands for a moment, holding her gaze.

“Don’t do anything reckless,” she whispered. “Please.”

“And risk never getting to come back to you?” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t dare.” He hugged her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to him. But he had to draw away, and he had to leave.

“Liar,” she whispered, after he’d gone, and there was nobody to hear her.

She sent a Patronus to Emmeline, and to her auntie. Neither of them replied immediately, but that was usual; Emmeline was in France right now, and Lily assumed that her auntie was busy, too. It could be hours before either of them was able to reply, and reassure her.

She finished her lunch, and cleaned up the lunch that James hadn’t finished.

She checked on Harry. He was napping, and she watched him for a moment, drooling on his dragon. That was his favorite of the plushies; it had red scales, and green eyes.

She tried to read a book, and couldn’t.

She went through her cupboard of potions, pulling out everything that she thought might be useful to have on hand as soon as the boys got back. She got out a couple of vials of the blood-replenishing potion, and her creams for bruises. She got out a vial of potion for burns, and a vial of a potion that when poured on a gash, helped to stitch it up more quickly than a spell. She found some bandages, too, and some of her old healing texts in case she needed to perform something trickier to fix somebody up. There. She was ready.

She thought about Remus. Nobody had gone to rescue him, because he was supposed to be the spy. They could never convince her of that, though.

Harry woke, and they played with his new train set from her aunt.

Eventually, she gave Harry his dinner, and gave him a bath, and put him to bed.

She tripped over her feet in her effort to get to the door when she heard it start to open. She saw James’s face, and rushed at him blindly, throwing her arms around his neck.

“I’m alright,” he murmured.

He was alone.

Out of the doorway, she saw that he wasn’t badly hurt. There was a cut on his cheek, and he looked slightly drawn, but that was it. “Sirius went to talk to Dumbledore,” he said.

“Peter?”

He shook his head. “We couldn’t get him back.”

“James . . .”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

She nodded. “Sure.” She bit her lip. “Do you want something to eat?”

“Yes.”

She heated up the stew that she’d made, telling him that Harry had really liked the carrots in it when she’d given him pieces. James nodded, and smiled, and took a bowl from her.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” she asked, uncertain.

“I’m fine.”

Her auntie’s cat Patronus leapt into the room, and said Lily’s name.

That was it.

Lily frowned. That was it? That was the message? That couldn’t be it. That was nothing. She looked at James. He was staring at the table, and eating his stew. “What was that supposed to be?” she asked. He looked at her, and his expression was blank. “Her message,” she said. “I sent her a message about Peter earlier, and her reply is my name?”

“Odd,” James said.

“Did it seem to you like the message got cut off?”

He blinked. “No.”

Lily sent a response, telling her aunt that she thought the message got cut off.

She hadn’t heard back from her aunt by the time they went to bed.

Honestly, she was more worried about James. He was acting so strangely. He was acting like she wasn’t even there, and it scared her a little. In the loo, she hugged him from behind while he was brushing his teeth. He didn’t move, didn’t react. She wanted to heal the cut above his eye, and he sat on the bed to let her, holding his hands in his lap. That wasn’t right. He never, ever kept his hands to himself when she was close; he couldn’t.

They got into bed, and he turned his back to her.

This had to be about Peter. What had happened? She stared at his back, and thought about reaching for him. She didn’t. If he wanted to keep to himself for a while, she’d let him. He’d certainly done that for her after she’d lost Marlene, although, in the end, she’d needed him to reach over, and pull her out of her despair. Had they lost Peter? _What had happened?_

She rolled to face the wall, pulling up the covers, and hugging her pillow instead of her husband. She’d worry about it in the morning.

Things were always somehow easier in the morning.

In the middle of the night, his hands clutched at her arms like steel, and she woke with a start. “Lily,” he breathed, and his voice was strangled. “ _Lily_ , take Harry, and go—”

“What?” she asked, alarmed. “What’s the matter?”

He relaxed, and his hands fell away from her. “Nothing.”

“James—"

“I had a nightmare.” He leaned in, and kissed her cheek. “Go to sleep.”

She didn’t notice right away in the morning. She got up when Harry woke, leaving James to sleep in, and went to the nursery. She changed Harry’s nappy, and took him downstairs, giving him a cup of milk. It was when she was putting the milk away that she saw her arms, and the marks.

He’d left a mark on her when he’d grabbed her in the middle of the night. The pads of his fingers were printed on her skin in dark, starburst purple. He had held her that tightly? He’d never once left marks on her. They’d fought, and he’d never bruised her, never even come close. They’d had rougher bouts of sex, and he’d never left a mark then either. He’d tried to give her a hickey once, and had been awful at it, complaining that she wiggled too much; he’d ended up blowing wet raspberries into her stomach to punish her for laughing at him, and she’d nearly peed herself. He’d never left a mark on her. _Never_.

“All done!” Harry said.

It was something that she’d taught him to do when he finished his milk; he put his cup on the table, and announced that he was done. “All done?” she repeated, and smiled at him.

James came down the stairs. “Morning.”

“Dada!” Harry said.

He passed Harry, ignoring him in favor of getting a pan out to cook something on the stove.

“We need to talk,” Lily said.

“Okay.”

“You need to tell me what happened yesterday,” she continued. “I don’t want to push you to talk when you aren’t ready, but you’re acting oddly, and it’s scaring me, James. _You_ are scaring me.” She paused. “You can tell me _anything,_ you know that. I don’t—James!”

“Hmm?”

“If you want to be upset, you’re allowed to be upset! You can cry, or you can yell, or you can—punch the wall if you want! But you cannot just ignore me, and ignore your son!”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, we’re going to talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” His face was expressionless.

She crossed her arms. “Fine,” she said. “Is Sirius coming over today? I’ll talk to him.” She’d expected him to come over last night, in fact. She was worried about him, too.

“We’re meeting him,” James said.

“Meeting him?” She frowned.

He began to cook himself eggs. “We’re going into town to meet him.”

“What?”

“We’re going into town to meet him,” he repeated.

She gaped. “What are you talking about? We can’t just _go into town_. We aren’t supposed to leave the house!”

“How is the Dark Lord going to know that we left the house for an afternoon?”

“If that’s your philosophy, why have we stayed all cooped up inside this house for nearly a year?!” He was being completely absurd, and staring at her like _she_ was ridiculous. “Who’s going to look after Harry?” she asked. “Have you figured out that part of this _spectacular_ plan?”

“We’ll take Harry.”

“He can’t leave the house!”

“How is the Dark Lord going to know that we left the house for an afternoon?”

She stared. This couldn’t be a stranger using Polyjuice Potion, could it? No. He wouldn’t have been able to get into the house unless he was himself. But he _wasn’t_ himself. He was staring at her right now so blankly, and had just suggested that they take Harry on an outing because _how would Voldemort know_? And he’d called him the Dark Lord! James hated when people gave him Voldemort that title. She didn’t know what was going on.

Or.

She might.

The idea began creeping up slowly on her.

There had been an essay on the N.E.W.T.S. about this, asking them to name seven signs. She’d known all of them: lack of expression, repetition in speech, change in personality, unusual and/or out of character behavior, absence of logic in making a decision, secretiveness, and, of course, sudden, often violent outbursts they forgot about after.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s have breakfast first.”

He nodded.

“I’m going to get dressed,” she said. “I’ll get Harry dressed, too.” She couldn’t leave Harry alone with him. She took Harry upstairs, and tried to steady her breathing.

It _couldn’t_ be.

She got dressed, putting up her hair, and she got Harry dressed, too. He protested when she put him in his cot, fisting his hands in her jumper. But she hushed him, and pulled herself away. She didn’t want to let him out of her sight, but she couldn’t have him in the room for what she had to do next.

Downstairs, there was a plate of eggs waiting for her.

She managed a couple of bites. “Jamie, do you like that I call you that? Jamie?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

She pressed her lips together, but it couldn't stop her last shred of hope from fleeing her heart. He did like it. He loved nicknames in general. She was the only one who was allowed to call him that, though. It was her name for him, and he _did_ like it. That was the truth.

Upstairs, Harry was carrying on at the injustice of being left in his cot.

James didn’t seem to notice.

She stood, and went to him. He blinked, and she cupped his face in her hands. “I love you,” she said, looking into his eyes, and hoping he heard. “Do you understand me? I love you so dearly. I’ll always love you. No matter what happens, I’ll go on loving you.”

“I love you, too,” he said.

She kissed his forehead, and took her plate to the sink.

She felt his gaze on her back, so she turned on the faucet, and began to rinse off her plate. After a moment, she glanced over her shoulder. His back was to her while he ate.

She left the faucet on, wiping her hands on her jeans, and grasping her wand. She said the spell at a whisper, and clapped a hand to her mouth when the curse hit him squarely in the middle of his back. He slumped onto the table, Stunned. His face was in his breakfast.

He’d tried to warn her, hadn’t he?

She looked at the bruises on her arms. That had been _him_. He’d been trying to tell her. She rushed to James, and touched his shoulders, pulled his plate out from under him.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed.

In a panic, she sent a Patronus to Emmeline, to her auntie, to Dumbledore.

Harry let out a particularly loud, angry shriek, and she went to get him. He was red-faced, and screaming when she got to the nursery, but he went quiet when she picked him up. “I’m sorry, my love,” she murmured, rubbing his back, and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“Lily!” Emmeline yelled.

Lily took Harry with her when she went running down the stairs. “Em!”

“I got your message,” Emmeline said, and she hugged Lily, and Harry between them. Lily jerked her head to the kitchen, and lead Emmeline there, to where James was slumped at the table, motionless. Emmeline stared. “You’re sure?” She looked at Lily.

“I’m sure.” Lily swallowed. “He’s under the Imperius Curse.”

Emmeline said nothing.

“What do I do? Peter was taken, so James went with Sirius to get him back, and he came back last night, but he was—he just kept saying that he didn’t want to talk about Peter, and he was being so strange. I should’ve known. I should’ve—they must’ve been caught, right? And someone put James under, and sent him back to get me out of the house. To get _Harry_ out. Oh, God. This is all just to get to Harry, isn’t it?” She thought she might cry. “I don’t know what happened to Sirius. James said that he’d gone to talk to Dumbledore, but I bet that was a lie. He’s probably being help captive along with Peter.”

“Have you sent a Patronus to Dumbledore?”

“To him, and to my auntie.”

Harry wiggled in her arms, wanting to be put on his feet. “Mama, down. Mama.”

“We have to—to tie up James, right? He’s going to wake up sooner or later, and he won’t be James. There’s no way to remove the curse, is there?” There wasn’t. She knew that.

“First things first, we need to get Harry to safety,” Emmeline said.

Lily nodded.

“I can get him to France,” Emmeline continued. “I have friends there who’ll protect him.”

“You can trust them?”

“I wouldn’t risk his life if I didn’t,” she said, and Lily nodded. “You need to get a hold of Dumbledore, but I don’t think it’ll be enough just to tie James up; people under the Imperius Curse can have inhuman strength. Do you have a potion that’ll keep him out for longer? If we can keep him under, I can take Harry to France, and you can go to headquarters, and get help for James. Dumbledore will know how to fix all of this.”

“Um.” Lily swallowed. “Yes, I think I have a potion that’ll work. Let me look.” She went to her cupboard. They could figure this out. They had to. She put Harry on his feet; he was squirming too much. “Here.” She found the bottle she wanted, and showed it to Emmeline. “It’s a sleeping potion that I enhanced. It’ll put him to sleep for twelve hours.”

“That’s good,” Emmeline said. “The moment James starts to stir, shove it down his throat.” She had picked up Harry; he was happy to be on her hip, though, and play with her necklaces.

“I’ll pack a bag for him,” Lily said, touching Harry’s back.

Emmeline smiled.

“I’m worried about my auntie, too. I sent her a Patronus yesterday, and her reply was just my name, and now I still haven’t heard from her. I think something happened to her.”

“One person at a time,” Emmeline said.

Right.

The list of people they had to rescue was growing, though. They needed to get Harry to safety, and to find a way to keep James safe until they got him released from the spell. They had to rescue Sirius, and Peter, and now possibly her auntie. It was overwhelming.

She looked at James’s slumped form. “I shouldn’t have let him leave with Sirius.”

“First things first, we need to get Harry to safety,” Emmeline said.

“What?”

“First things first, we need to get Harry to safety.”

Lily swallowed. “I know. Here. I’ll take him upstairs, and change his nappy, and pack a bag for him.”

“Hurry,” Emmeline said. “I’ll keep an eye on James, alright?”

Trying to keep her heads from trembling, Lily took Harry from Emmeline. She tried to think of a way to ask it without seeming suspicious. “Can you send a Patronus to Moody?” she asked. That would lead to it. “He’s said before that I should contact him with problems when I can’t get in touch with Dumbledore.”

Emmeline nodded, and cast her Patronus, murmuring a message to the horse.

“Do you like horses?” Lily asked.

In the breath it took Emmeline to answer, time stopped. Emmeline sent her Patronus off, and turned to Lily, scrunching up her nose. “You know I hate them,” she said.

Lily stared.

“What is it?” Emmeline frowned. “I thought you were going to—”

“Yes.” Lily turned to leave the kitchen. “Oh! I forgot.” She spun, and Stunned her friend.

Emmeline fell.

Tears burned in Lily’s gaze.

Marlene had loved all horses. That was where the root of Emmeline's patronus. Emmeline had never really liked them herself, though. That was the truth. And that was the question that Lily was supposed to ask if she thought Emmeline was under the Imperius, and the real, curse-free Emmeline was supposed to lie and say she loved the animal.

How was this possible? How was this happening? James was under the Imperius Curse, and now Emmeline was, too, and Peter was captured, and Sirius, and. She stopped. If they put James under, why wouldn’t they have put Sirius under, too? They could have sent him to lead the Order into the trap, to go to Dumbledore, or to her auntie. Is that why nobody had responded to Lily yet? Had it been Sirius who had cut off her auntie’s message? Was it safe for Lily to go to headquarters, or had someone under Voldemort’s control infiltrated it?

“Mama, go down,” Harry said, pushing at her chest to get away from her.  

She looked at James.

“Mama!” Harry was getting mad at her.

“We have to go, sweetheart,” she said. “We have to get you to safety.” She began to cry, but she swallowed, and took Harry to his nursery, and she packed him a bag with nappies, and clothes, with a couple of his dragons, and his favorite bedtime storybooks.

Where did she go?

She had to leave; Sirius could easily walk into her home, and attack.

She looked at the book in her hand. _The Tale of Peter Rabbit_. It was one of their favorites.

She knew where to go.

There was only one person she knew she could trust with her life, one person she trusted, and loved, and could be certain wouldn’t be under the Imperius Curse, or the spy.

James always liked to keep gold around the house; it was habit he’d picked up from his father, and she’d teased him about it relentlessly. Who honestly kept gold under their mattress? She was glad for that now, though, because he kept Muggle money around, too.

She could use it to get to France without alerting anyone magical.

People were likely to be watching the house. Sirius could be watching it under the control of his cousin, and Lily looked at the window for a moment, thinking she’d spot him. She needed to Apparate as soon as she stepped out the door, and to be certain that she wasn’t followed. She’d take James’s invisibility cloak. She got it from their bedroom along with a handful of gold, and an envelope of paper Muggle money. She pulled the cloak carefully over herself, and over Harry, and the little, pathetic bag of things she’d packed.

Downstairs, she looked at Emmeline on the floor, and at James at the table.

How could she just leave them?

Harry was stroking the inside of cloak in awe with a single, stubby finger. She kissed the top of his head, breathing in his sweet baby smell. _For you_ , she thought. She had to get him to safety, then she’d come back, and she’d figure out who she could trust, what to do.

She stepped out the back kitchen door, and turned on her heel, Apparating. In the instant before she disappeared, she saw a cloaked figure emerge from the corner of her eye.

\---

She forged a passport with magic. It was frighteningly easy, in fact. But she had to spend a lot of her money on a ticket to Paris, and she’d never been on a plane before, and must’ve looked absurd, trying to figure out what she to do without drawing suspicion.

She got to Paris, though, and she took a bus to the return address written on her last birthday card.

It was night by the time she knocked on the door.

Harry was fussy, was tired, and hungry, and overwhelmed by everything. He was crying when Petunia opened the door.

“Hi, Tuney,” Lily said.

Petunia was stunned. “Lily,” she breathed, and seemed to sway on her feet. But she came to her senses. “Come in. Quickly, or he’ll wake the building.” She ushered Lily in.

Lily gave Harry milk while Petunia made tea, and she put him to bed.

Then she sat in Petunia’s little parlor, accepting a cup of tea, and it tumbled out of her. Petunia knew that Lily had gone into hiding, and Lily told her the rest. She explained the prophecy, and explained the Imperius Curse, and how James was under it, and Emmeline, and she told her that hadn’t been able to get in touch with their aunt, with anyone, and Harry wasn’t safe in England anymore, but she didn’t know what to do, or whom to trust.

“I realized I could trust you, though,” Lily said, “and I didn’t know have anywhere else to go.”

Petunia gaped. “Lily, they’re going to follow you here!” she exclaimed.

“Please, Tuney.”

“I don’t see what I’m supposed to do!”

“I need you to take Harry. Take him, and—and just get him somewhere that’s completely safe. Leave the country. Go to Australia! Or America! Get him away from the war. Please. He’ll never be safe in England, and I—I can’t take him. I have to go back. I just _left_ James there, and Emmeline, and—” She shook her head. “Pet, you’re all we’ve got.”

“I can’t just leave my job, and run off to Australia with your son.”

“Tuney—”

“How can you ask that of me?”

“I don’t have anybody else to ask it of!” she exclaimed, and she couldn’t really breathe in that moment, knowing it was true. She was on her own. “Please, Tuney. _Please._ ” She shook her head. “ I don’t know what’s going on; I don’t know how this all suddenly now happening, but it is, and I’m _scared,_ and I’m alone, and—” She pressed her face into her hands.

There was a hand on her shoulder.

Lily looked up, sniffing, and met her sister’s gaze. Petunia put her palm to Lily’s cheek. “Tuney,” Lily whispered, leaning into her sister’s touch. “I’m sorry, I am, but I . . .”

“It’s been a long time since you’ve needed me for anything, lovey.”

“I need you now.”

Petunia tucked a curl of hair behind Lily’s ear. “Why don’t we go together?” she asked softly. “Run away from all of it. The magical world’s never been kind to either of us. We’ve always just been _Minerva’s orphans_. I was always second-rate to them, and they were never kind to you either. Not really. They’ve never treated you like an equal. If they’ve really got our aunt, let’s just go. Both of us. Let’s just go, and never look back.”

“I can’t just leave,” Lily said. “What about James?”

Petunia was silent.

“And if they do have Auntie, I have to try to help her. I can’t just abandon her, or James, or my friends. I’ve already lost too many people I love. I have to go back and fight.”

“But you want me to take your son.”

“Nobody knows as well as us what a difference a good auntie makes.”

“I think I would have rather had a mother.”

“Please. We never should have listened to Dumbledore. He—” She shook her head. “We should have faked our deaths, or fled the country, or. We shouldn’t have just _stayed_ , hiding in our cottage. But we did, and now it’s all gone to hell, and I—I can’t abandon them. I might be able to leave the Order, but I can’t leave James, and Sirius, and Emmeline, and Auntie. I can’t. But I’m afraid to trust anyone now. Even if another Order member isn’t under the Imperius Curse, they rely on magic so much, and it’s not enough. It can’t keep my son safe. Not forever.”

“But you think a plain old Muggle can?”

“I think my sister can.”

Petunia looked away from her. She took a sip of her tea, setting the cup down carefully. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

Petunia nodded, and looked at her. “I _am_ your sister. And once upon a time, I thought we were on our own, and I swore to myself that I’d take care of you. In that home, Lily, I swore to myself that I would _always_ take care of you. How could I not?” She sighed. “If you won’t let me take care of you, I’ll take care of him. I’ll do as you ask. I will take my nephew, and I will get him to safety.”

Lily’s eyes welled up with tears.

“Well, don’t cry,” Petunia said. “I’m giving you what you wanted, aren’t I?”

Lily knew that she couldn’t stay for long.

She had cold, leftover pork chops that Petunia fixed her, and told Petunia everything that she might need to know to look after Harry. They talked about money; Petunia had plenty, and said she’d go to the bank first thing in the morning, and make a withdrawal. She’d get Harry out of France as soon as possible. They talked about how to keep in touch, and realized there wasn’t really any good, safe way; they decided that Lily would send a message to Petunia when it was safe for her to return to England with Harry.

There would be a day when it was safe her to return to England with Harry.

She knew that she needed to sleep, and she was loath to leave Harry. She had to, though.

The rest of her family still needed her.

She changed into fresh, clean clothes that Petunia gave her to keep. It was odd, wearing a collared, floral print dress. She’d worn t-shirts with James’s boxer shorts pretty exclusively for the years she’d been in hiding. It felt good, putting on something new.

She was done with hiding.

“He’s going to be upset when he wakes, and you aren’t here,” Petunia said.

“I know.” She bit her lip. “Make his dragon talk to him; he always like that. And you can always get him to laugh by making funny faces at him, and sticking your tongue out.”

“You told me that already, lovey.”

They hugged.

Her sister smelled like sweet, floral perfume. It was rich, overwhelming. Lily hadn’t ever gotten into the habit of perfume. Her auntie didn’t wear it, so she never saw the point. Sirius had bought her a bottle of something absolutely dreadful for Christmas their sixth year, and she’d re-gifted it to him for Christmas their seventh year; they’d been trading it every Christmas since, in fact. She pressed her nose into her sissy’s neck now, though, and drank in the smell of Petunia, of her stubborn, snobby Francophile of a sister who was her opposite in nearly every possible way.

She had to let go, had to leave.

She looked in on Harry before she went. He was sleeping in the middle of Petunia’s bed with his hand in a fist under his chin, and his dragon clutched between his legs. She didn’t want to wake him, but she couldn’t help leaning over him, and breathing in the smell of him, too. She brushed a kiss to his hair, and she left him.

\---

Her heart stopped when she saw the cottage, then began suddenly beating so fast that it hurt. It wasn’t the cottage she was seeing, though. It was the remains of the cottage, rubble and ash and smoke. She could see the black, disgusted outlines of walls, furniture.

Had James burned it, or Emmeline?

Had they woken up, burned the house, and returned to Voldemort? Or were they among the ruins? Had they been ordered to stay in the cottage, and burn along with it?

The rest of the houses were untouched, and the street was empty. Quiet.

She started into the rubble, trying to stay completely under James’s invisibility cloak, and stumbled her way to what she thought was the kitchen. There weren’t any bodies. She was certain. Her hands were black with soot, her eyes were watering from the smoke, and she was certain.

But if they weren’t here, where were they?

Something suddenly brushed her leg, and she whipped her wand out.

“ _Rhu_ ,” she breathed, and she lifted the poor, forgotten cat into her arms. He meowed, and butted his head against her. “Oh, Rhu, I left you, didn’t I?” There was ash in his fur. “I just up, and left you here. I didn’t even think of you.” She pressed her cheek to his head.

She’d just left him.

How could she have done that? How could she have run off like that? How could she have just left them?

There wasn’t a point in staying in the ruins.

She needed to go to headquarters. She didn’t know what she’d find there, but she had yet to hear from someone in the Order, and she needed to find her auntie, Dumbledore, _anyone_. She stumbled out of the ruins, and went, Apparating with Rhubarb in her arms.

Headquarters was actually a house in a quiet, country neighborhood of Muggles, which meant she had to Apparate to an alley where she wouldn’t frighten Muggles by her sudden, magical appearance. She arrived, headed out into the street, and saw the smoke. She clenched her jaw, knowing what house was burning. She crossed the street, and turned the corner, and came face to face with the house that used to be their headquarters.

The fire had burned out, thought it continued to smoke.

Lily stared at the shell of a house. Had Dumbledore been captured, and forced to give up the location? That was impossible, though. He might’ve been taken, but he hadn’t given them up. He wouldn’t. Even under torture, he’d never, ever talk. Had it been Sirius? Had he walked in calmly, and burned the house to the ground? Is that what her auntie had been trying to tell her when she’d sent that message? She had to find her aunt. She had to.

She went to James’s old house.

She had her wand out instantly, and she waited for an attacker to strike. She was under the cloak, but they would have heard the pop.

Nothing.

She hurried out of the house, and towards her auntie’s. She didn’t know what she’d find there, knew it was unlikely that she’d find her auntie. But she _might_ be there.

The people who’d escaped from headquarters could’ve congregated at her house.

Lily needed to be careful, though. She might already have people tailing her, following her from the cottage, or from headquarters, or from the manor. She couldn’t drop her guard for even a second, had to keep her eyes peeled, and her wand up, had to be ready for a fight.

She began to run when she saw that the door of the cottage was hanging off the hinges.

There wasn’t a dark mark over it, but that didn’t mean anything.

Inside, there were signs of a struggle: overturned furniture, and broken glass, her auntie’s favorite teakettle on the ground. There wasn’t a trace of her auntie, though. She was gone. Taken. She hadn’t been ambushed at headquarters, and had her message to Lily cut off. She’d been attacked in her own home.

They’d gotten into Lily’s house, and into headquarters, and into her auntie’s cottage.

Lily set Rhubarb on his feet, and sent a Patronus to everyone she could think of.

She sent one to Moody, and to Dumbledore, to Doge, to Podmore, to Diggle. She realized with a flash of horror that Voldemort wouldn’t simply have gone after Harry, and the Order’s headquarters; he would have wanted to get his hands on Neville, too, would’ve sent somebody to get Neville out of hiding, too, and Lily hadn’t even thought to try to warn Alice. She sent a Patronus to her now, and to Frank. She even sent one to Pomfrey.

Nobody responded.

What was she supposed to do now? Where was she supposed to go? How was she even supposed to _begin_ to fight?

She sent a Patronus to Remus.

She couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t safe. The longer she stayed, the more likely she was to be surrounded.

But where _was_ safe?

If Dumbledore was taken, Hogwarts was compromised. She didn’t know where anyone in the Order actually lived. All of the people in the Order she’d been close to were dead now, or taken. She had no idea where the Longbottoms were living. Even if she did know an address to go to, she doubted she’d find anyone there. Nobody was responding to her messages.

Surely, though, there was _someone_ who’d escaped.

There was a pop from behind her.

Lily froze, and her eyes raked down, assuring that the cloak covered her completely. For a moment, she was filled with hope that whoever had appeared right behind her was a friend. She hadn’t told anyone in her messages where exactly she was, but. It could be.

He passed her, and her mind didn’t play tricks on her this time. She recognized him. She saw his long black hair, and knew instantly.

Rhubarb meowed, brushing up against Lily’s leg.

Regulus looked directly at her, and Lily acted on instinct, acted instantly, lifting her arm, and parting the folds of the cloak, disarming him before he could even think to deflect it.

He didn’t blink when his wand went flying from his hand.

She pulled off her hood, materializing in front of him. “Move, and I’ll kill you.”

“I thought it was you,” he replied.

She clenched her jaw. “Do you know what’s happened to my aunt?”

“She was put in Azkaban with others who refuse to swear their loyalty to Voldemort,” he said, calm. “I’m told she put up a fight. They had to hit her with half a dozen different spells to take her down, and when she was brought before Voldemort, she spat in his face.”

She swallowed. “My husband?”

“Azkaban.”

She tightened her grip on her wand. “Emmeline?” she demanded. “Vance?”

“Azkaban.”

She shouldn’t have left them.

“I’m sure you know that messages sent by Patronus can only be heard by whomever they were sent to, which means that nobody was able to overhear the messages that you sent your friends. But I’m afraid that we were witness to most of them, because we have most of the recipients.”  

“Most?”

He smiled. “Our illustrious, all-knowing headmaster has evaded us again.”

“Good.”

“The moment you began to send those messages, the best were sent to look for you.”

“The _best_?” She meant it to be scornful.

“He wants you badly, Lily. He planned so carefully to get to you. Why do you think Potter didn’t simply attack you, and drag you out of the house, drag your son out? If there was a chance you’d fight back, and might overpower Potter, it couldn’t be risked. I suppose they should have risked it, though. They got everyone else, but you escaped.”

“They didn’t get _everyone_.”

“Essentially.”

She shook her head.

“I told you that Dumbledore was able to escape. But the rest of the Order was captured, yes. Some were killed; others were imprisoned if Voldemort felt they were worthy of living. Do you think we might continue this conversation elsewhere? I was the first to think to look for you here, but I won’t be the last. Unless you _want_ to get caught, we need to leave.”

“ _We_?” She scoffed. “In case you forgot, _we_ aren’t on the same side.”

“Yes,” Regulus said. “We are. I’m not here to take you to Voldemort, Lily. I’m here for your help.”

She stared.

“I know how to stop him, but I cannot do it myself. I need help. If you’re willing to trust me, we can do it together.”

“You think I’m that daft?”

“I’ll explain everything from the beginning,” he continued. “But we need to leave. Now.”

“I _don’t_ trust you.”

“I’ve saved you once before, haven’t I?”

“You did that for Sirius.”

“How do you know that I’m not doing this for Sirius, too?” He sighed. “I believed what I was raised to believe. I joined Voldemort when I was a teenager, because I couldn’t fathom defying my parents, and my friends, and everything I was told. I was sheltered, and ignorant. It wasn’t until after school that I saw who Voldemort was, and realized I didn’t actually agree that Purebloods were superior to the rest of the world, and that meant we could use everyone else to our ends.” His gaze was unwavering. “I can’t undo my past, but that isn’t what matters now. I’m trying to change everyone’s future. He _needs_ to be stopped. I can’t do it by myself. I know; I’ve been trying for years. _Help_ me.”

She couldn’t reply before a _pop_ , and Fawley was standing by the sink.

Lily raised her wand, but Fawley was faster, and she was blown off her feet, slamming into the wall, and falling.

He stalked to her, and when she tried to aim her wand at him, he disarmed her.

“You’re welcome, Reg,” he said, sneering at Lily.

Lily looked past Fawley to see Regulus bend, and retrieve his wand. For a moment, she’d actually almost believed him. Her gaze snapped back to Fawley, and she lifted her chin, and met his glare with her own, tasting the tang of blood from where her lip was now split.

“I’m going to enjoy watching him kill you,” Fawley said. He smiled. “Do you think he’ll have Potter do it?”

 _“Avada Kedavra_ ,” Regulus said, calm.

Like a puppet whose strings had been cut with a flash of green, Fawley crumpled.

Regulus strode forward, stepping over Fawley, and held out his hand to Lily. “Can we leave now?”

She took his hand.

It was foolish to trust him; she knew that. This could all be some new, elaborate plan that Voldemort had devised. But she didn’t have anyone else to turn to, anywhere else to go. She took his hand, and when he pulled her into his side, she stood stiffly, and didn’t resist, allowing him to Apparate them.

\---

He explained from the beginning. He told her about Kreacher. Sirius had made a couple of bitter, unkind comments about the elf to Lily previously, but Regulus spoke differently. He told her that Voldemort had asked to use Kreacher, and what Voldemort had done to the helpless, unsuspecting elf. He explained that he’d investigated what Voldemort had needed to use Kreacher for, and he’d learned what a Horcrux was. He told Lily what it was, and how it was made.

“He made one?” Lily asked, horrified.

“He’s made more than one, and he isn’t finished making them.”

She gaped. “How many do you think he’s made?”

“I thought it was only the locket at first,” he said. “I realized, though. How could the greatest dark wizard stop at one? It was the night I rescued you that I overheard a conversation made me realize he wouldn’t have simply made one. He would want seven.”

“ _Seven_?”

“He’s enamored with the number.” He continued, and told her that he’d retrieved the locket, though he’d been unable to destroy it yet. He’d gotten a hold of a forgotten Slytherin heirloom, too, a ring, and he believed it was a Horcrux. “I don’t know what the others are, or even how many of them there are at this point. I have suspicions, but I haven’t been able to follow up on them.”

It was a lot to take in.

He seemed to know that, and was quiet.

Having sufficiently explored the flat, Rhubarb chose that moment to jump onto Lily’s lap, and knead her thigh.

She met Regulus’s gaze. “This is what you want my help with.”

“If we destroy his Horcruxes, we make him mortal, and we have a _chance_ at killing him.”

“But you don’t have a _way_ to kill him?” she asked. “To stop him, and save—” She stopped.

“Your husband?” he said. “Your aunt?”

“Yes.”

“If you want to save them, we need to stop him. I could try to get into Azkaban, and free your husband, or your aunt. Or I could go after Bella, try to get my brother back, and I might be able to do it, to save at least one of them. But whenever I act in rebellion, I risk being found out. This is more important than one life.”

“You risked being found out to rescue me.”

“I did.”

She looked at the glass of water he’d given her.

“He will meet his match. Voldemort. He will; I’m confident of that. If it isn’t you, or I, it is someone. I’d like to make it so that when he meets that someone, he _can_ be killed.”

She thought of the prophecy.

“Neville,” she said, realizing. She looked at him in alarm. “Frank and Alice Longbottom have a two-year-old, Neville. They were in hiding with him. I know you said that—”

Regulus hesitated, and that was the answer. She shook her head. “I wasn’t lying to you before,” he said. “Dumbledore escaped, and you escaped. That’s it. I’m sorry. It was Doge. He’s actually been under Carrow’s control for a couple of weeks, waiting to strike until after we got your husband, and would be able to get your son. He convinced the Longbottoms to leave their house. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late to do much. Alice Longbottom did get away with the boy, but . . . she didn’t get far. She took a few of them down with her, but she was killed, and the boy was, too.”

She should have warned them.

“Your son—"

She looked at him sharply. “I’m not telling you where he is.”

“I didn’t expect you to.”

“Do you know about the prophecy?”

“Yes.”

It hadn’t been two whole days since Lily had left her home in the safety of James’s cloak, had left _him_ , and Emmeline, and run away with her baby, and the world had gone to pieces in that time. It didn’t seem possible that everything had gone so wrong, so quickly.

“Voldemort will never stopped hunting for your son.”

“I know.”

“If you want to protect him, help me.” His gaze bore into her. “If you want to save your husband, _help me_. Because if we do this, it won’t just save your family; it’ll save the _world_.” He stared. “We _have_ to make him mortal, Lily; that’s the only way to stop him. I cannot do it myself. Will you help me?”


	6. Chapter 6

Regulus left her to read through his notes, saying he needed to report to Voldemort, and keep up appearances.

She put on James’s cloak, and found a corner to sit in with the notes. If he was going to betray her, she was going to be ready for him. She’d use her invisibility to Apparate before any of them could see her. It wasn’t really a solid plan, but it was the best she had.

His notes were amazing.

He must’ve spent _months_ compiling them. He knew about the history of the Horcrux, and theories on how to destroy one, about Voldemort’s childhood, and the places that were significant to him, and likely to hide his Horcruxes. Everything was written in neat, even cursive, organized, and underlined.

Once her eyes began to blur, and tear up, she took a break.

She explored the flat with Rhubarb.

It was the same Muggle flat that he’d taken her to when he’d taken her from Lestrange’s, and it hadn’t really changed in the years since then. It remained completely barren, unlived in. But, actually, that wasn’t really the case, was it? Now that she had the time to explore it properly, she found the markings of a life. It was a secret, lonely life, but. There was a towel in the loo, and a teakettle with old, forgotten tea in it, sitting on the stove. There were stains of ink on the table. There was a blanket on the bed, and a small, Muggle clock that ticked the seconds, and told Lily that it was the middle of the afternoon.

He returned.

She stayed under the cloak with Rhubarb in her arms, watching him put bags of food onto the counter in the kitchen.

Nobody had followed him.

She took off the cloak, and he continued to unload his groceries.

“Did you read my notes?” he asked.

“I think we should try getting a hold of dragon’s fire,” she said. “You can buy it jarred, can’t you?”

“Supposedly,” he said, eyeing her. “It’s illegal.”

“I wasn’t aware that we were trying to follow the letter of the law,” she replied. “There’s no point in looking for his Horcruxes if we don’t know how to destroy them, so this is where we start.”

\---

She was out of money, but Regulus had plenty, and though she couldn’t exactly exchange his gold at Gringotts, she found a seedy old Muggle who gave her cash for her odd gold coins.

She used the cash to get to Romania.

It took her weeks to get a hold of someone to buy a jar of fire from. She felt like she was living a life that wasn’t her own in those weeks; she wasn’t really traveling across the continent, wasn’t really bartering in alleyways with creepy, dangerous men, wasn’t really going to bed at night by herself while everyone she loved was being used, being tortured, being _killed_. But she got what she came for, finding a woman who could get a hold of real dragon’s fire for her, and she spent nearly every last galleon from Regulus on four small jars.

She bought a small, cheap journal when she went into a store to buy a pack of cigarettes.

It gave her something to do while she made her way back into England.

She didn’t write anything in it that needed to be kept secret, that was important. Instead, she described the country. She wrote about who she’d met, where she’d stayed, what she’d seen. She wrote in detail, wanting to remember it perfectly so she wouldn’t forget anything when she described it all to James. It was this, or she’d start talking to him in her head.

\---

She was taking a bus to the flat in London when she saw it through the window, and sat up from the half-daze, half-dozen she’d been in, flushed with horror at the sight of it.

She gaped at the black iron gates that rose into the sky, at the pillars of thick black smoke that went even higher, blackening the sky. It was some kind of awful, medieval _prison._ She looked at the Muggles on the bus with her, but they seemed to be oblivious, and were annoyed when she ran down the aisle, and made the driver pull over to let her off _now_.

On the street, Muggles went about their business like they weren’t aware of the prison.

It must have been hidden from their sight by magic.

She stepped off into an alley, and pulled the cloak from her bag, pulling it on.

In the safety of the cloak, she headed to the gates of the prison. She’d seen it so clearly from the bus, but that wasn’t because it was close; that was because it was huge. The smell hit her when she got closer: it smelled of sewage, and rot, of _death_. She got closer, and saw the bodies. Right behind the gates, ropes were hanging in the air by magic, and people were dangling by the neck from them, naked, and dead. She swayed on her feet.

There wasn’t very much more for her to see; the prison was several, large brick buildings a ways back from the gates.

She began to walk along the edge, wanting to see how large it was.

She didn’t know why.

It wasn’t like it mattered if she knew how big it was, or saw what other, atrocious things they were doing to the people they’d put in there.

But she couldn’t just walk away.

She’d been in Romania for a few days past three short weeks, and this had been built in that time? She couldn’t’ really believe it. Now that there was nothing standing in Voldemort’s way, what other horrors was he going to wreak on England in the days and weeks and _months_ to come?

Spying a wizard in long black robes, she made certain that her cloak was covering her.

She recognized him.

His name was Davey Scott, and he’d been in Ravenclaw, and partnered with Marlene for a project in Charms in their fifth year. He’d been so quiet in school, always writing himself notes on his arms with a quill. He’d been harmless. Now he was dressed in gloves, heavy black boots, and a heavy black robe, and she realized he was _patrolling_ the prison.

He passed her, and she turned, staring at his back, and watching him disappear into the distance.

She pulled her gaze away only at the sound of a scream.

It came from within the prison, and Lily saw that a door to one of the buildings had been thrown open, and a woman was screaming while she was hauled from it. She was bloodied, was _beaten_ , and they were _dragging_ her, and Lily lifted her wand, taking a step. They tossed the woman to the ground, and one of them raised his wand, was going to murder her right in front of Lily.

Lily didn’t even think, screaming the spell at one of the men.

It shot from her wand, and hit the gate, reverberating so forcefully that Lily was blown off her feet, and was left a dizzy, breathless heap on the ground.

She looked up, and met the eyes of the man she’d tried so stupidly to attack.

His face contorted in a sneer, and he began to shout, to stalk to the gate, waving his wand. Lily scrambled to her feet, and with her cloak whirling around her, she turned, and Apparated.

Regulus had told her to Apparate as little as possible in England, saying that it Voldemort was working on a way to trace the spell, and track a person who Apparated, to follow.

She didn’t have a choice at that moment, though.

She reappeared in the alleyway by the old London flat she’d shared with her friends, and she hurried from it, heart pounding madly.

She made it onto another bus.

In a far back seat, she dug her hands into her bag, and found the jars of fire. It didn’t really help to calm her. She reached into her jacket, curling her fingers around her wand. That didn’t help much either. Every single time she closed her eyes, she saw those bodies, and that battered, screaming woman, saw the gates, and the smoke rising from further within the compound. She tightened her grip on her wand, and tried to steady her breathing.

Regulus wasn’t in the flat when she burst in.

Rhubarb was, and he trotted up to her, meowing in greeting.

She ignored him. She stumbled into the bedroom, dropping to her knees, and prying up the floorboard. As soon as she did, she heard the low, whispering noise of the ring.

She picked it up; it was strangely cold to touch.

She stared at it for a moment. Did it really hold a piece of his _soul_? She set it on the floor.

She put her bag down, and fished out a jar of fire. The flames were lively, leaping in the small, contained space, and licking the sides of the jar, changing from orange to red to yellow in bursts. She’d have to be quick, to drop in a Horcrux as soon as she unscrewed the jar. If she wasn’t quick enough, the fire would leap right out, and burn the air, wasted. She clutched the jar, balancing it on her knee.

She picked up the ring, and dropped it again when the cold of the metal _burned_ her hand.

That was when she heard it.

Crying.

“Harry,” she breathed, and she whipped her head around, searching for him. Her baby. The room was empty. Nobody was there, especially not the toddler she’d sent off to safety. She was losing her mind. She looked at the ring, and Harry was screaming, was _shrieking_.

She reared back when she saw the boy.

He was standing only a breath from her, shimmering in the light of the window. He was a ghost. He was young, sporting dark black hair that had been neatly smoothed over his head. “Please,” he whispered. He was thin, and there was emptiness in his eyes; his gaze was hollow, was _terrible_ , and she couldn’t look away from him. “I know what it is like to have nobody to love you,” he told her. “ _Please_.”

She shook her head.

“Mum,” said a boy, and her gaze snapped to another little boy, standing by the first.

She knew who this one was.

He was a tiny little boy, had spindly little limbs, and dark messy hair that stuck up in the back, and she’d seen his long, pale face before, had seen it when she was a girl; it belonged to her very best friend. But this wasn’t young James. This was Harry. _Her_ boy, looking at her so sadly, so frightened.

“Mum, where are you?” he asked.

“I—”

“You just left me,” he said. “Just like you left Dad. How could you leave us?”

She shook her head.

Suddenly, Harry was sitting, was curled up, and crying, and the boy with awful, empty eyes was grabbing his neck from behind, was choking him, and Harry sputtered, struggling to speak, and clawing uselessly at his attacker’s pale, murderous fingers around his throat.

“Stop it,” Lily gasped. “ _Stop it!_ ”

Harry was crying, and writhing, and _dying._

“I’m sorry, I had to, I’m sorry, please, _please_ —” She lunged, but they were beyond her reach. She could hear his small, hurt voice in her head. _How could you leave us?_ “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry.” He was begging her to stay with him in her head, and choking in front of her, and something in her chest cracked open, allowing a torrent of desperation to spill into the cavity of her chest, flooding her. I’m coming,” she gasped. “I’m coming, Harry, I’m—” She scrambled to get to him, to save him, and the sting of ice cut her palm.

She looked at the ring.

The sound of Harry was deafening, but her eyes were still wide open.

She snatched up the ring, and Harry was screaming and choking and accusing her of abandoning him.

She grabbed the jar of fire that she’d dropped, and she balanced it to her knee once more, starting to untwist the lid. Harry shrieked, and she popped off the lid with her thumb, jamming the ring into the fire with her palm. She choked on a scream when the fire seared her palm, and the jar fell from her grasp, shattering on the floor, and she was blind with the pain for a moment, hugging her hand to her chest, and rocking, and sobbing.

It was quiet.

She could hear the shallow, unsteady sound of her breathing.

On the floor, the jar was in pieces, and the fire was gone, leaving a black, twisted ring in the shards of glass.

She touched it. It wasn’t warm from the fire, or cold with a curse. Nothing.

It was a piece of junk.

She crumbled, falling onto her side, and pressing her cheek to the floor. The locket had to be destroyed, too, but she couldn’t even imagine it at that moment. She closed her eyes.

She thought of Harry, and a sob stuffed up her throat, choking her.

She _ached_ , wanting to hold him, and feel his sweet little arms wrap around her neck.

She didn’t know much time passed before she rose to her knees. Methodically, she put the three remaining jars of fire in the floorboard with the locket, and Regulus’s notes, and after inspecting it carefully in her good, unharmed hand, she put the ring in the floorboard, too. She evaporated the broken glass pieces with a spell, and got to her feet.

At home, she had a potion for burns. She wondered if it would have worked on burns from dragon’s fire.

Her palm was black, and blistered. It hurt simply to look at it, and seemed to pulse in pain in time with her heartbeat. She used a couple of simple cooling charms, and the pain abated only slightly. She used Emmy’s old spell, numbing it. The burn was resistant to that, too, though it took a lot of the edge off. She found a couple of bandages in the loo, and managed to wrap her hand up, though she did a very shoddy job of it.

James could have done better.

She was sitting at the table when Regulus came in.

"The cloak doesn’t work if it’s half hanging off you, you know,” he said.

She hadn’t really realized that she had the cloak on, but, yes, it was clasped at her collar, and flowing off her shoulders, doing nothing to hide her.

“Did you get the fire?” he asked.

“I saw that compound in London,” she told him. “The prison. I walked the length of it, saw all of those bodies they’d left out to rot in the sun. I watched them nearly kill a woman. I’m sure they killed her after I left. They’d beaten her, and she was screaming for help, and—”

“Did you get the fire, or not?”

She glared, wiping at her cheeks. “I got it.”

“Good.”

“I destroyed the ring.”

“You did?” His eyes were suddenly bright. “Did it work?”

She nodded.

He frowned. “What’s the matter?”

“Everything.”

“It _worked_ , though?” He was trying to catch her eye. “You destroyed it?”

“I don’t know why you wanted my help. I never saved anyone, you know. I was always the one who needed to be saved. I always got cornered, or captured, and somebody was forced to rush in, and save me. James, and Sirius, and Peter. _You._ That’s why I’m the last one left, isn’t it? They got picked off one by one, protecting me, and what did I do when they needed me? I _left._ Now the world’s gone to shit, and what am I doing? I’m wandering about Romania, buying things illegally to destroy bits of Voldemort’s soul.”

“You say that like it isn’t important.”

“Is Peter in Azkaban, too? Peter Pettigrew?”

He frowned. “Pettigrew?”

She looked at him. “He’s friends with James, and Sirius. Blonde, and—”

“I know who he is,” Regulus said. “He isn’t in Azkaban, though. Azkaban is reserved for worthy Pureblood traitors who needed to be punished for their resistance to Voldemort.”

“Peter is Pureblood.”

“He isn’t a traitor,” he said. “Or he isn’t to Voldemort.”

It took her a moment to understand.

“He was the spy in your organization,” Regulus said. He raised his eyebrows. “You hadn’t figured that out?”

 _Peter_. How could it have been him? Oh, God. He’d lured James out, hadn’t he? He’d sent a fake message to Sirius, had used how much his friends loved him, and lured them out.

Regulus sighed, and moved to sit at the table. “Do you want to know why I came to you for help?” he asked. He began to pull off his gloves.

“I was the only one left _to_ come to for help.”

“You’re wrong." He leveled her with his gaze. “There are others. Your organization was destroyed, but there are always more people who are ready to resist somebody like Voldemort. Or I could have gone to Dumbledore. I’m sure he would have loved that, my coming to him on contrite, bended knee, and begging to be saved.”

“Do you know where Dumbledore is?” she asked.

“My brother loves you,” he said.

It startled her into silence.

“I failed him a lot. Over, and over. He kept on giving me chances, and I kept on failing him. He might never know about this, but I—I like to think that he’d be glad we were working together. He’d approve. That’s why. I chose you because my brother would have chosen you.”

For the first time, she looked at Regulus, and saw a kid.

“The fact that people were always saving you isn’t something to be ashamed of,” he said. “It proves that you were loved by a lot of people. Don’t be so quick to disparage that.”

“You’re right,” she said.

It was quiet.

She cleared her throat. “It fought back,” she told him. “The ring. It was like it knew that I was going to destroy it, and it tried to distract me. It made me hallucinate, and . . .”

He nodded. “I expected it would. But it’s done? You destroyed it?”

“Yes.”

In the bedroom, she stood back while he knelt, and pried up the floorboard, fishing out the ring to assess it. After a long, silent moment, he seemed to agree that it was destroyed, because he put it aside, taking out the locket out, and holding it by the chain.

There was a part of her that wanted to leave the room, get as far as she could from what was trapped in that locket. But she couldn’t just turn her back on it. She had to stay.

He set the locket on the ground, and lifted out a jar of fire, rising to his feet.

She tensed. Nothing happened, though. She looked at Regulus. If he was seeing any kind of hallucination that she wasn’t, she couldn’t tell. He threw the jar suddenly; it burst when it hit the ground, engulfing the locket in flames that flashed blue, and vanished.

The locket lay on the ground, unharmed.

“You have to open it,” Lily said.

He nodded, and knelt again, taking out another jar of fire. His knuckles were white, gripping it. But he picked up the locket, too, and she watched his thumb fumbling over the clasp. She knew the moment he got it; he stumbled backwards suddenly, and the locket fell, opening up completely on the floor, and a ghostly figure emerged out of it.

It was Sirius.

He was younger, looked like he had at seventeen: bright-eyed, and sharp-jawed, hair that was artful rather than unkempt, a smile that was easy. Lily drank in the sight of him.

Then he opened his mouth, and it _wasn’t_ Sirius.

“Do you really think you can do this?” asked the figure, and his smile was a twist of his lips, taunting. “ _You_ , brother?” He sneered. “Have you forgotten what a weak-willed, cowardly boy you are? Have you forgotten that you were Mother’s little darling, letting me take the fall, and letting me take the beatings, crawling into my bed after and asking if I hate you?” He shook his head. “You’re pathetic, brother. You’re a coward, and a fool. Now that Mummy’s dead, there isn’t anybody left to love you, and you think this will work? This will get me back so you don’t have to be alone anymore? _Pathetic_ , Regulus.”

“This isn’t Sirius,” Lily said. “Regulus! _This isn’t Sirius_!”

Regulus wasn’t listening to her, though.

“Do you want to prove yourself? I know you do. I can see everything you want.”

“The only thing Sirius ever wanted from you is for you to love him back!” Lily exclaimed, wiling Regulus to tear his gaze from the apparition. “To pick his side! To pick _him_!”

It wasn’t enough, though. He couldn’t hear her, was too entranced.

She started for him, grabbing his arm.

He jerked from her grasp, and smacked her across the face, making her stumble with the force. That was when he looked at her, looked her squarely in the eye, and while the figure from the locket was laughing, he threw the jar at the ground, and, again, the locket was lost in flames. This time, it worked. Lily watched the apparition, saw it begin to shriek, and twist, transforming, and the flames were green, leaping, and consuming until, suddenly, they were gone, the bedroom was quiet, and a mangled, blackened shell of a locket was lying on the ground in a stain of soot, and the remains of the jar.

Regulus was silent.

She touched his shoulder, but he shrugged her off immediately, and turned on his heel. She wanted to stop him, to say the things that she knew he needed to hear: that his brother loved him, and missed him, and would be proud of him. But he didn’t want to hear that from her, did he?

He left the room, and she heard him slam a door, leaving the flat.

She looked at the locket. “Go to hell,” she whispered.

She cleaned up this mess, too. They had destroyed two Horcruxes. It was more progress than Regulus had made in years, but. How many more were there? There was only one jar of fire left.

Alone, she fed Rhubarb, and brewed a kettle of tea, and sat at the table.

She thought of Dumbledore. If they could just find him, he’d be able to help. Could she possibly convince Regulus to trust him? They would have to find him first, though.

They needed help.

She thought of that prison that had sprung up overnight in the middle of the city.

They couldn’t do everything by themselves, couldn’t find every last Horcrux, destroy all of them, and stop him. Lily didn’t have it in her. She wasn’t like her boys; they were strategists, daredevils, _marauders_. If one of them had been the last one left, it would’ve been better.

She thought of Peter, and tried to make it fit, to remember a moment when she should have known.

She thought of James.

She wondered what he was thinking in that moment, how he was enduring his time in Azkaban. Was he worrying about her, about Harry? Had they tortured him? Were Dementors at his door, stealing the joy from him? She drank her tea, and wished that she didn’t have to be alone, crying into her tea.

\---

“He made a Horcrux with an heirloom of Slytherin, but I don’t think that would’ve been enough for him,” Regulus said. “Why stop at Slytherin when he could have a Horcrux from each of the Houses?” He raised his eyebrows. “I talked with the Bloody Baron, and, unwittingly, he gave me an idea as to which heirloom from Ravenclaw Voldemort could’ve used. I need to follow up on it, but I’m almost nearly certain that my suspicions are correct.”

She nodded.

“I don’t know what object he could have gotten from Gryffindor,” he continued, “or from Hufflepuff. If he is still in search of objects to use, he hasn’t made those two yet.”

There was a snap, and a particularly miserable looking old House Elf appeared in the flat.

In her lap, Rhubarb was suddenly alert.

“Kreacher,” Regulus said, straightening. “Good.”

She was never very good at telling the age of elves, but she guessed that he was older. He seemed to be particularly small, and shriveled, though he was dressed in a clean green towel. He looked from Regulus to Lily, and his ugly little face seemed to grow uglier with disapproval.

“This is Lily,” Regulus introduced. “She is helping us to find the rest of the Horcruxes.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Kreacher,” Lily said.

He ignored her, returning his gaze to Regulus. “I have what you asked for, Master.” From a snap of his fingers, he produced a roll of parchment that was nearly as tall as he was.

“Excellent,” Regulus said, taking it, and unfurling it.

It was a map.

“Hogwarts?” Lily said.

He nodded.

“Is there anything else that Master is requiring?”

“Did you bring the salve?”

Kreacher scowled, and, with another snap, produced a jar of thick green paste.

“That’s for you,” Regulus said.

Lily blinked.

“Ungrateful little Mudblood,” Kreacher muttered.

“It’s for your hand.”

Lily glanced at her hand, which was bandaged. She hadn’t been able to heal the burn; it was blistering now, and the charms she used to numb it worked for minutes at most.

“I’m told it’s what professionals use when working with dragons.”

Gingerly, she took the paste from Kreacher.

“You may go,” Regulus said, and, in a blink, Kreacher was gone.

Lily unwrapped her hand, and, after a bit of a struggle, uncorked the jar. She slathered the paste on her palm artlessly, but that was effective; the relief was immediate, and blissful.

Rhubarb tried to lick it off her palms, and she scratched his chin, shooing him

“Better?”

She flexed her hand. “Much.” It was going to scar, but that was fine. She looked at him. His gaze was on the map again. “Thanks,” she added, and he gave her a nod of acknowledgement. “So. That was Kreacher? He’s a delight. I can see why Sirius thought so highly of him.”

Regulus sighed. “He is only polite when the company’s the kind my mother would’ve approved of, unfortunately. He is loyal, though. You can trust him with your life.”

“Can I?” She was skeptical.

“He is the reason I’m alive.” He looked up from the map. “I ordered him to get us out of the cave as soon as I had the locket in my hand, and he did. I had drank a goblet of poison, but he got me out.”

“You’re his master,” Lily said. “He could move mountains for you.”

He nodded. “That, and who do you think was feeding your cat while you were gone?”

She smiled.

“I’ve written down everything I know about the defenses that Voldemort’s put up around Hogwarts,” Regulus said, handing her a roll of parchment. She nodded, and opened the pack of cigarettes. “Study them while I confirm what I believe about Ravenclaw’s diadem. If I’m right, and it’s now a Horcrux, we’ll need to get into the school to retrieve it.”

“You think he is keeping a Horcrux at _Hogwarts_?”

“It is a place that is significant to his history, isn’t it? And there are certainly a number of places in the castle that are very well hidden, and very difficult to access, especially because Hogwarts is now in his possession. Have you heard of the Chamber of Secrets?”

\---

The announcement was featured on the front of the _Prophet_. Regulus never bothered to read the paper, though he brought Lily copies at her request. If he had, he might have tried to hide that day’s from her. Instead, he tossed it on the counter, and she picked it up.

She saw his name in print, and panicked.

She began to read the article frantically, but there was a mistake. It wasn’t talking about him. She read it again. It was, though. She read it again, and _again,_ letting it sink in.

“What?” Regulus asked.

“It says—“ She tore her gaze from the paper. “It’s announcing James Fleamont Potter’s engagement to Seraphina Travers Rowle.” She was breathless. “ _James_ ,” she repeated, and she looked at the paper again, starting to read it aloud. _“. . . Potter graduated from Hogwarts in 1978, and Rowle in 1979. Though they were friends at school, their romance didn’t begin until after their graduated. Both are eager to begin a life together, and continue the Potter family name._ ” She shook her head. “This _cannot_ be happening! It—”

Regulus hesitated.

“You _knew_?”

“It isn’t something I can stop.”

“It isn’t—you don’t have to stop it! It won’t happen! James would _never_ —"

“I’m afraid James isn’t going to have a say.”

She stared

“He is back under Mulciber’s control,” Regulus admitted. “It seems that he was resistant to every single attempt to convince him to turn willingly. I’m told he’s very good at insults. Avery says Potter called Voldemort a hairless, buttfaced cocksplat. To his face.”

“Is this supposed to be a punishment for that?” She was incredulous, was dumb with shock.

“If they can’t turn him willingly, this will have to do.”

“What good does it do anyone to _force_ him to marry Seraphina Rowle?”

“It ensures the continuation of the Potter family bloodline.”

She choked. “He isn’t a _cow_!”

“I believe in this scenario he is the bull.”

She gaped.

“It isn’t going to happen immediately,” Regulus said, and his tone was placating. “It’s my understanding that Voldemort wants to turn the wedding into a celebration of his—”

“We have to stop it.”

“We can’t.”

“Can we do _anything_?” she exclaimed. “We can’t free anyone from Azkaban, we can’t save your brother from your fucking _psychotic_ cousin, we can’t help the hundreds of people who are being _slaughtered_ for sport in the giant, barbaric prison that’s sprung up in the middle of London! Now you’re saying we can’t stop my husband from being _forced to marry_ for _bloody reproductive purposes_! Do you _like_ being fucking _useless_?”

“I have explained this before,” he said, colder. “We are doing what _needs_ to be done to defeat the darkest, most powerful wizard of our time. You might not like it, but we—”

She pushed to her feet, and started for the bedroom, only to spin, and head for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“Out.”

It was awful out; she was greeted with the press of hot, muggy air as soon as she stepped into the street.

In only eight days, Harry was turning two. She was missing it. Did Petunia know it was his birthday? _Oh, God._ What if she didn’t know that it was his birthday? It had been nearly three months since she’d abandoned him, and now she was missing his birthday.

It had been nearly three months since she’d left James slumped over the table.

How could she have done that?

Her shoulder brushed against the brick of the next building over, and she turned, pressed her back to it.

 _He’s mine,_ she thought. _He’s always been mine. Since we were five years old, he’s been mine. They can’t just take him. They can’t._ She closed her eyes, tearing up _. He’s my boy, my friend, my clown, my protector, my partner. My husband. Mine._

She closed her eyes, and though of when he was a boy, announcing, “Here I am!”

He was always like that. He was always so _much_ , and of all the best things: so much energy, and so much excitement, so much _joy_ , and so much goodness. Who was Voldemort to take that from him? Who was Voldemort to claw his way into his mind, and into his chest, to grip his heart in a fist, and to change it? Who was Voldemort to erase _her_ James with the wave of a wand, and fill the shell of him with emptiness, marrying him off to breed him like a bull? It wasn’t right, couldn’t be real. He was always so fucking much, and that was how she loved him, that was how she _needed_ him.

She thought of Alice.

 _You told me that Frank was the breath in your lungs_ , she thought, and she hadn’t then, but she got it now. She understood. _Because_ _I can’t breathe, Allie._ _I can’t breathe._

She returned to the flat.

Regulus was bent over the table, looking at the map of Hogwarts.

“Why don’t we just kill him?” she said.

Regulus frowned. “Who?”

“Voldemort. Let’s finish this. You must have a plan for how to kill him, right? Let’s do it. People are dying every bloody second that passes. Why should we wait any longer? Let’s kill the bit of his soul that’s still in his body, and go after the rest of the bits after.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” Regulus said. “Unless we kill his Horcruxes, his body—"

“Fine,” she snapped. “If we have to get the Horcruxes first, we need help.”

“Help?”

“Dumbledore. Let’s contact him. I know he hasn’t left England, and I’m sure he is doing everything he can think to counter Voldemort. He’ll want to help us, and who knows more about Hogwarts, or Voldemort, or—he’s the perfect person to help us, and he _can_.”

“We can’t trust him.”

“I’m not asking you to _like_ him.”

He shook his head.

“I can’t just sit around while you do _research_ ,” she said, “and the world goes to shit, and everyone I love is—”

“Why are you even here?” he interrupted.

“What?”

“In England,” he said. “You found out that there was a prophecy that your son was going to be the one to defeat Voldemort, and that Voldemort knew about the prophecy, and would come after you. Why didn’t you leave England immediately? Why did you _stay_?”

“We went into hiding.”

“Why would you go into hiding _in England_? Surely it would be safer to go into hiding in a whole other country? Australia? Canada? Germany?” He stared. “You could have faked your deaths, disappeared to Brazil, and used the Fidelius Charm there, too, just to be doubly safe, and that would have been that. He never, ever would have been able to find you. But you chose to hide in a cottage in England.”

“Dumbledore—”

He nodded. “There it is. _Dumbledore_. He wanted you to stay in England, didn’t he?”

She was silent.

“How could the prophecy ever come true if you son was safely in Singapore?”

“You’re saying that Dumbledore wanted us to stay in England because he wanted the prophecy to come true?” she asked. “Because he _wanted_ Voldemort to find us?”

“I’m saying he doesn’t care about you, or your family.”

“You’re the same, aren’t you?” she said. “You think it’s necessary to sacrifice the people we love in the name of the cause than to risk the cause. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“Yes,” he said. “I told it to your face.”

She swallowed. “He might have kept us here for his purposes. You might be right.”

“He did.”

“That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to help us,” she continued. “You don’t have to trust him, but you can’t deny that he wants Voldemort’s defeat as much as we do.”

“I’ll make you a deal.”

She frowned.

“I’m not certain, but I think they’re going to have Potter marry Rowle in December. It’ll be a celebration of the Ministry’s defeat last Christmas. Help me get Ravenclaw’s diadem, and destroy it. Then I’ll help you get your husband back. We’ll fake his death, and _he_ can help us with the rest of the Horcruxes.” He raised his eyebrows. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

He nodded. “Good. Now. Earlier you were telling me about several different, secret passageways from Hogsmeade into Hogwarts that we might be able to use?”

Eventually, he left for the night, and Lily took the paper, and used her wand to cut out the photo of James. She cut Rowle out of the picture, leaving only James to wave at her. It wasn’t really James, though. It was an imposter, was the shell of him. But it was all she had left, and she’d take it.

\---

Regulus might’ve refused to risk their search for Horcruxes to resist Voldemort in any other way, but she couldn’t keep living that way. She was by herself in the flat for days at a time while Regulus was “working.” If he was going to spend half his time looking for Horcruxes, and half his time serving Voldemort, then she was going to spend half her time looking for Horcruxes, and half her time doing everything in her power to defy Voldemort.

She donned James’s cloak, and went to spy on the prison.

For a week, she bided her time, and tried to learn everything that she could about how it worked. It was protected by a number of spells, making as impenetrable as Hogwarts.

But it turned out that people were delivered to the prison via train.

The fury was a living, breathing thing inside her when she saw that the train she’d taken to Hogwarts year after year was now being used to transport innocent people to prison.

She learned the route, and how it was run now, learned the vulnerabilities. She shopped in London at every Muggle store that might possibly carry the ingredients she needed, and she brewed every potion she thought might somehow be useful, potions that exploded on contact, that produced copious billows of smoke to blind you, that paralyzed you as soon as they came into contact with skin. She traded Regulus’s gold to Muggles for money, and divided it up evenly.

On the first of September, she snuck onto the train while it was in the station at Edinburg.

She stayed in a corner when it took off, and when people were loaded on.

She waited until the train was loaded up, speeding off, and on the way to the prison to take off the cloak. People were alarmed at first. Some of them had gone to Hogwarts, though, and they recognized her; the first was Tim, the little Hufflepuff boy she’d tutored. He was older now, taller, and changed. Still. He was as fearless as always. She explained the plan as quickly as she could, and Tim was more than ready to follow her lead, to help her.

People remained scared, but they listened.

She used a potion to burn through the floor of the train, and it leaked to the wheels, and slowed them in time to pass over a valley where everyone could jump off, could jump to freedom, and flee before they were found out. Lily cast a simple invisibility charm on each of them before they jumped, and Tim handed each a rather measly parcel of money.

She didn’t have time to forge a passport for each of them, and she knew the chances that some of them would quickly be recaptured were high.

This was the best she could do.

They got everyone out; she didn’t exactly count, but it must have been at least a hundred.

She jumped, too, and when she rolled to a stop, Tim helped her to her feet.

“Get to safety, alright?” She couldn’t see him clearly in the dark, but she found his gaze. “And as soon as you can, get out of the country. You aren’t valuable to them, which means they won’t hesitate to kill you.” She touched his arm, willing him to listen to her.

“What about you?” he asked.

“I’ve got a few things to do before I can go.”

He nodded.

It startled her when he hugged her, but she wrapped her arms around him, and hugged him back.

He was still only a kid.

In the morning, she read in the _Prophet_ about the “attack.” Officials at the Ministry were baffled, and they were furious. She was right, too, that a lot of the people she’d helped were recaptured. But some of them got away. That was reported in the _Prophet_ , too; their names were listed, and a price was given for their recapture. Tim was at the top of the list.

 _I’m coming, Jamie_ , she thought.

After she got him, he’d help her get Sirius, and Emmeline, and her auntie, and they’d find the rest of the Horcruxes, and destroy them, and _end_ this hell.

She began brewing more potions that afternoon. But before she was ready to do it again, she saw the train roll into London, and she saw the dark, foreboding figures in the sky above it. She couldn’t exactly sneak anyone off the train when Dementors were watching from above.

\---

She had to get a load of groceries just for the cake, and she talked to one of the women in the market’s bakery for advice about the details of general cake making. She’d never actually baked a cake, but she figured it couldn’t be difficult. If it were, there wouldn’t be an expression about how it’d be as easy as cake.

It turned out that expression was a _lie_.

Her cake was crispy on the outside, but uncooked in the middle, and lopsided all around. She debated trying again, but decided that she’d just put a lot of frosting on it instead.

She’d just make the frosting really, really good.

If James could eat hard, half-cooked spaghetti with overly salted sauce on it, Regulus could stomach this cake.

She was trying to figure out how to spread the frosting on without getting crumbs in it when Regulus got to the flat. He was starting to say something else, but stopped, and frowned. “Did you bake a cake?” he asked. His gaze went from her to the cake, and back.

“I did.” She smoothed a bit of frosting with her thumb, and pushed it to him. “Happy Birthday.”

His eyebrows flew up.

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Sirius always drank a lot on your birthday, that’s how.”

“Oh.”

“I’m going to warn you that cooking isn’t really a _strength_ of mine. You’d think I’d be good at it because, you know, I’m great at potions, and it’s all just following a recipe, right? James says it’s one of those mysteries of life that we just have to be okay with not understanding.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

She cut him a slice, and a bit of batter oozed out.

He blinked.

“I’d prefer if you just didn’t comment,” she told him, “and spat it out in a napkin when I wasn’t looking.”

He nodded. “Right.” But he took a fork, and he ate his slice without any complaints. She licked up a little of the batter that had spilled out from the center of the cake. It wasn’t actually that bad. She had a slice, and thought the frosting was kind of crunchy, but it was still sweet, and good. She was pleased with herself.

\---

It was pouring out when she asked Regulus where the _Prophet_ was, and he hesitated. She frowned, stubbing out her cigarette. “What?” she asked, tensing. “What’s the matter?”

Something was the matter, and he’d learned to try to hide it from her.

“Who?” she asked.

“There’s talk of a resistance under Dumbledore,” he said. “It hasn’t been reported in the _Prophet_ because Voldemort doesn’t want to give it credit. But there were reports that they knew about Voldemort’s plans to celebrate his victory over the Ministry, and they were going to ambush the celebration.” He paused. “They were going to ambush the wedding.”

She stared.

He pulled the copy from his robes, and handed it to her.

James was married last night.

“I thought you said the wedding wouldn’t happen until Christmas.”

“I know.”

She looked up from the photograph of James. He was grinning, and waving, and had his arm around the shoulders of a bright, beaming Seraphina. “Why didn’t you warn me?” she asked. She was shaking, and she knew he could tell. The paper was shaking with her.

“I didn’t know it was happening until it was happening.”

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t actually know everything that Voldemort plans; I am not in his innermost circle. I only just learned that Potter wasn’t actually put back under the Imperius Curse.”

“What?”

“They found another, more agreeable way to force his hand. He didn’t break when they tortured him, when they threatened _his_ life. But it seem they’ve figured him out now. He’s to do exactly what the tell him, or they’ll kill one of his closest disposable friends.”

“Sirius?”

“Sirius isn’t disposable. He’s Pureblood. They hope to turn him.”

“There isn’t anyone else in the world James would want to save so badly that he’d—”

“Lupin.”

She stared.

“You were friends with him, too, weren’t you?"

“He’s alive?”

“Yes. Because your husband married Rowle, he’s alive. He’s in the Hole.”

That was what Regulus called the prison in London. Remus was in that terrible, towering prison that couldn’t be broken into, the place that stank from a distance, the fortress where bodies were strung up for decoration. She shook her head. He was _alive,_ though.

“There’s one last thing we need to do,” Regulus continued, “and we’ll be ready to get the diadem from Hogwarts. As soon as we have it, we’ll get _your_ husband. I promise.”

“If we manage to rescue him, what happens to Remus?”

Regulus was silent.

Lily dropped her gaze, only to find it on the picture of James with his brand new bride. He _wasn’t_ under the Imperius Curse. That was good, wasn’t it? It meant he was in control of his will. She looked at his smile, and, in a sudden, furious fit, she grabbed the paper, and flipped it, hiding the photograph. She fumbled to tap a new cigarette into her hand.

\---

She was pouring over Regulus’s map of Hogwarts when she heard Regulus come into the front of the flat, slamming a door, and making a lot of noise, dragging a chair. She ignored him. Then she heard him speak, and heard a low, strangled noise in reply to him.

He hadn’t come back by himself.

She scrambled off the bed, snatching up her wand. It occurred to her only after she’d begun to open the door that Regulus might’ve betrayed her, and she was going to be met with the end of a wand. But the door was open, and she saw that it _wasn’t_ a betrayal, and she gaped at the sight of what it was: _Peter_ , tied up, and tied to a chair with his hands behind his back, battered, and sporting a black eye, and a swelling nose, and a split lip.

He saw her, and tried to speak, but he couldn’t; he was gagged.

“We need to have a chat with him,” Regulus said.

The last time she’d seen Peter, she’d considered him one of her very best friends, and had trusted him completely.

“If we want to use any of your information about old, secret passages into Hogwarts,” Regulus continued, “we need to know what of that information is actually good, and what this one’s given to Voldemort.”

“Right.” This was his last thing that needed to be done.

“I thought I’d let you talk to him before I ask my questions.” He paused, and she finally looked away from Peter to look at him. “It’s up to you what we do with him after.”

She nodded.

Regulus made to leave, starting for the small back room that he claimed for himself.

“Stay,” she said. “Keep your wand on him, or he’ll transform.”

“Transform?”

“He’s an Animagus.” She twisted her wrist, removing the gag with magic.

Peter gasped. “You’re _alive_!”

“Is this news to you?”

“I—I saw your body,” he said. His eyes darted to Regulus, and back.

She stared.

He frowned. “Lily. Oh, God. Lily, _please_. Don’t look at me like that. I don’t know what he—” Again, he glanced at Regulus. “—what _he’s_ told you,” he said, “but I’m not working for the Dark Lord. I’d never! I was put under the Imperius Curse, and I was—”

“No,” she said. “You weren’t.”

“I _was_!” he insisted. He’d lost too much weight, too quickly; it made him look sickly. “I would never have betrayed my friends if I hadn’t been _forced_ to! I didn’t know what I was doing, Lily; I had no control over it. My memory of it now is blurred, and I don’t—I was horrified when I was let out of it, and I realized what I’d done. But it was too late for me to do anything. You know me! You know I’m not capable of betraying my friends!”

She was filled with a strange, terrifying calm, looking at him, and knowing that he was lying to her.

“Don’t you remember that day I saved you? In Mueller’s shop? Bellatrix would’ve killed you, but I took out the rest of the Death Eaters, and attacked her, and I saved you?”

“I do,” she said. “Three years later, you turned right around, and betrayed me.”

“No,” he said. “No, _please_!”

She stared. “You were the spy, Peter. You.”

“ _Remus_ was—”

She lifted her wind in a fury. “Don’t. Don’t you _dare_ accuse him of that.”

He shook his head. “We’ve been friends for years,” he said. “I was in your wedding. I held Harry right after he was born. I was—Lily, _I_ was the one who told Prongs to ask you out after you’d snogged for the first time in our dorm all those years ago. He was batty after it, and he sent me to follow you, and see if you were, too. Emmeline saw me, remember? She saw a rat. And I went right back to Prongs, and told him to ask you out.”

She swallowed.

“Lily—”

“I’ve had months to think about it,” she told him, “about the instances when it was clear there was a spy, and what went wrong, and I’ve finally put it together. It was you.”

“ _No_! It wasn’t! I was under the Imperius Curse. _He_ put me under it. _Regulus_.”

“Regulus?” Lily repeated.

Regulus sighed. “I suppose your plan is to have her save you from me?” he said.

“I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but you can’t trust him. He’s been putting me under the Imperius Curse for weeks at a time, and _using_ me. And when he isn’t controlling me, I’m in Azkaban. It was the same with James before they married him—”

“ _Stop_.”

He did.

“We aren’t going to talk about _my_ husband.” She swallowed. “Get what you need from him,” she said, staring at Peter, and speaking to Regulus. “I’m finished with him.”

“What do you want me to do with him after?”

“Kill him.”

Peter choked. “Lily!”

“What?” she said. “You betrayed me, and _all_ of your friends, and you’re looking me right in the face, and _lying_ about it, and you think I’m not going to kill you? I’ve lost _everything_ , and you’re trying to manipulate me, and you think I _give a shit_ about you?”

His chin trembled just slightly, and he shook his head.

“Admit it,” she breathed. “That’s the only thing I want from you. _Admit it_.”

He looked at Regulus, and at her again, and seemed to decide.

She saw it on his face.

“I was scared,” he whispered.

“You betrayed us.”

He shook his head, and his gaze was tearful, was _pleading_. “I—I didn’t want to.”

She breathed in sharply, and clenched her jaw.

“Lily—”

“Why didn’t you just let me die that day at the apothecary’s?”

“You were my friend.”

“I was,” she said. “Until you betrayed me, and my husband, and—and _everyone_. How could you do that? I need to know, Peter. I need you to look at me, and _tell me._ ”

He looked at the floor.

“How could you do it?”

“I _was_ a hero that day,” he said, bitter. “I think it was the first time that James actually believed I was his equal. How could he not? I’d saved _you_. But I could never do it again. I got lucky that day. It’s what you all went back to thinking before long. I know. They expected me to keep fighting like that, though. To risk everything over and over, put my life on the line again and again, and I wasn’t allowed just to say I wanted out, was I? That’d make me a coward _._ You had a _baby_ , and wanted to fight. How could I want out?”

“That’s it?” Lily said. “That’s your excuse? That you were worried the people who loved you most would think _ill_ of you if you admitted you were scared, so you _betrayed_ us?”

“They came to me,” he said. “The Dark Lord’s people. They—”

“They loved you more than we did? They were kinder? They _believed_ in you?”

“You don’t know what it’s like.” He shook his head. “To be . . . the tagalong, the one everybody cares about the least. They used to talk about you like you—you were a wonder, and _me_? I was just the kid they were nice enough to bother being friends with.”

“James, and Sirius, and _Remus_? They _loved_ you. They would have died for you!”

“No.” He shook his head. “They would have died for _you._ ”

Lily stared, and the hatred was a living, breathing thing inside her. “You’re a coward.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t really think you are,” she said. “And that’s the worst part of it, isn’t it?”

Peter was silent.

She looked at Regulus. “Get what you need from him, and you can do whatever you want with him after. I don’t care. I just I know I never want to see him again.” She wiped at her cheeks. “Remember to keep your wand on him.” She glanced at Peter one last time. “He’s a rat.”

Regulus nodded.

“I’m going out for some air,” she said, and she started for the door, grabbing her jacket on the way, and shrugging it on. She had her hand on the doorknob when he spoke.

“You were my friend,” Peter said. “ _Please_.”

She paused. “Don’t kill him,” she said, clenching her jaw. “James was right. We’re better than that.” Not waiting for a response, she left the flat, and left Peter. She’d come back when she was certain he was gone. She’d meant what she’d said. She never, ever wanted to see him again.

\---

Regulus was sitting at the table by himself with a bottle of something when she returned.

She joined him.

“Pettigrew never told much about the passages into Hogwarts,” he said, and he rose to his feet, going to the cabinet, and returning with another glass. “He never even told Voldemort that he was an Animagus. I guess Voldemort never thought to ask about it.”

“I don’t really want to talk about Peter.”

He poured a dram for her. “It means that we can use the passage from Honeydukes.”

“Good.” She took a sip.

It was Ogden’s. She’d never really liked the taste, but it reminded her of James now, of the warm, whiskey taste of his kisses when they were young, and happy, and unafraid.

“Your brother is an Animagus, too,” she told him. “He turns into a big, shaggy black dog. He’s cute.”

“Pettigrew said.” He refilled his glass, too. “That’s pretty incredible magic.”

“Your brother is a pretty incredible wizard.”

“That I knew.”

“Did you fake my death?” she asked.

He sighed, and she knew that was answer, though she waited for more while he poured yet another dram into his glass. “He never would’ve stopped looking for you,” he explained. “This frees you. Nobody is looking for you, because nobody knows _to_ look for you.” He downed his glass, and met her gaze. “You died in McGonagall’s house in April.”

“Nobody?” she repeated.

“To put it simply, Voldemort was . . . _pleased_ at your death.” His smile was bitter. “He made it known. Celebrated it. You were a cockroach that couldn’t be killed, and he’d killed you. Or, at least, he was the reason for your death. I made it so Fawley killed you _._ ”

“I guess that means he told James, didn’t he?”

“He showed him the body.”

She nodded, and took a sip of the whiskey, holding the taste on her tongue.

“No matter what you’ve been thinking lately, you should know that he—I was there, and you should know that your husband really loved you. Loves you.” He shook his head. “McGonagall, too,” he added. “Voldemort took the body to her, too. He wanted to gloat, I suppose, and she . . . it was _terrifying_ , seeing my stern old professor like that, just . . .”

“What?”

“Broken.”

“She raised me,” Lily said. “In all the ways that mattered, she was my mother.”

He nodded.

“You should’ve told me.”

He topped off her glass, and refilled his own again, pursing his lips. “I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

“Do you?” she asked. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I was the one who attacked the Hogwarts Express when it was on the way to the prison, and freed everyone on it. I spent weeks planning it when you weren’t around.”

“I figured,” he said. “If it had been Dumbledore’s people, it would’ve been flashier.”

“You aren’t mad?”

“Nope.”

“I want to break into it,” she told him.

“The Hole?”

She nodded. “I want to get Remus out, and get out as many people with him as I can.”

“It’s impossible to break into the Hole.”

“Not if I’ve got someone on the inside on _my_ side,” she said. “Luckily, I do.”

He sighed. “I’ll think about it?”

“Deal.”

“In the meantime, we’re ready. It’s time to go to Hogwarts, and get the diadem. We can do it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” She was surprised.

“Tomorrow.”

She took another sip of the whiskey. “Say we do it,” she said. “ _Do_ you have a plan for after?”

“After?”

“Say we get all of the Horcruxes. We’ve destroyed the ring, and the locket, and we’ll get the diadem, and destroy it, too. We find the rest of them, and destroy them. We do it.”

“Right.”

“We make him mortal.”

He nodded.

“What are we going to do after? What’s the plan? How are we going to stop him?”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“How?”

“I’m going to point my wand at him, and kill him.”

She stared.

“There’s a whole special spell for it, and everything,” he said.

She snorted, and shook her head, and began to laugh, couldn’t help herself. She covered her face with her hands, laughing, and crying a little, too. “Good.” She nodded, and looked at him. “I’m glad you’ve got a good, solid plan in place for it.” She smiled.

He smiled, too, and his smile was small, and self-deprecating, and it was his brother’s.

She wiped at her eyes. “You’re like him, you know.”

“Who?”

“Sirius,” she said. “It’s not just that you look like him, although you _do_ look like him. You look much more like him than I do my sister. But it’s—it’s the way you carry yourself, and how you put on this facade, and act like nothing effects you. He always did the same. And your sense of humor is the same, and you’re—he tried to act like he wasn’t, but he was kinder than he let on. To the people he loved, he was kind. You are, too.”

He stared, and she watched him swallow, straining to keep up his facade.

“He’d be proud of you,” she said. “He’s _going_ to be proud of you when he finds out everything you’ve done.”

“Tell me about him?”

“What?”

He shrugged. “You know, the part of him that you knew, and I didn’t.”

She bit her lip. “Well, he likes to cook, and to bake, too, and he’s really, really good at both. His specialties are pasta, and crumble. And. Let’s see. He’ll tell you that he’s never been in love, but I think he’s lying. They never actually called it a relationship, but he used to fool around with Remus a lot, and I think he was in love with him. They got in a fight, though, when Sirius pulled a prank in their fifth year, and James said they never really got past it. I think he’ll always love Remus, but . . . Sirius was just too callous for Remus, and Remus was just too down on himself for Sirius.” She shook her head. “Anyway, he likes to say that he’s too picky for love. He says his type is _really beautiful people_ , and there aren’t enough of them in the world. He’s an arse, honestly." She smiled. "Oh, also, James pulled a prank on him once in seventh year, and now he’s afraid of pickles.”

“Pickles?”

She grinned. “Pickles.” She shook her head, remembering.

“We’ll get him back,” Regulus said.

She looked at him.

“I’ll get you your family back, Lily. I promise.”

“Our family,” she corrected. “Sirius belongs to the both of us. Guess that means we’re going to be stuck with each other for a while. Don’t worry. I’ll grow on you. I’m a delight.”

His lips twitched with amusement, and he raised his drink. “To the humble.”

“To the cockroaches who couldn’t be killed,” she said, and she clinked her glass with his.

\---

The plan was for her to wear James’s cloak, and take the passage from Honeydukes. Regulus was going to be at the school, and he was going to keep an eye on the halls, and distract any interlopers, giving her the chance to get in, get the diadem, and get out. Though he’d thought initially that the diadem was hidden in the Chamber of Secrets, he’d changed his mind, and now thought it was in a place he called the Room of Requirement.

He explained to her how it worked, and how to get in.

“It’s likely the diadem is going to be protected,” he warned. “You need to be careful. Get it, and get out. Don’t wear it, or tinker with it, or do anything that’ll stall you, or encourage it to fight you. Just get it out of Hogwarts. We’ll destroy it after you’re safe.”

“I understand.”

“If you get in trouble, the room can hide you, too,” he added. “Just wish for it.”

She left the flat with the cloak on her shoulders, and a certainly that they could _do_ this.

They’d been planning for weeks.

It was easier than she’d expected to sneak into Honeydukes, and get into the basement. In the tunnel, she thought of her first date with James, and how many times he must’ve taken this passage with his friends. She’d tell them someday how it had served her well.

Hogwarts seemed unchanged when she emerged into the school at last.

The corridors were empty, and silent.

They’d planned for the middle of the night, knowing it would put students in their beds.

She reached the stretch of wall that Regulus said would reveal the door, and she followed his instructions to get in. She smiled when the door shimmered into sight. She checked again to be certain that nobody was coming, and she went in, closing the door behind her.

She lost her breath for a moment when she saw how large it was.

He told her that room would change to provide whatever was needed, and that it provided the same place to everyone in need of the same thing, including a place to hide things.

She could never have guessed how many things people at Hogwarts had needed to hide over the years.

The room was cavernous, was a maze of old, hidden artifacts, and she didn’t know where to begin her search for a crown. Did Regulus know how large it was? She hoped he did; she hoped he realized that he needed to give her a lot of time to find the diadem, because she’d need it. She began to weave her way into the mess, searching mostly by sight, though she picked through a couple of larger, wider piles that were hiding other objects.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but she found it.

Or she thought she might have. It was a tarnished old crown, and she didn’t dare touch it yet, assessing. Regulus has shown her a picture of the crown, but it had only been a drawing, and it hadn’t exactly been recently drawn. She frowned, and heard it, heard the faint, awful noise that she’d heard before from the ring. It was somehow slightly different, but she knew. This was it. This was Ravenclaw’s diadem, and it was a Horcrux.

She’d found it.

She looked at the objects that surrounded it, but there was nothing that made her fearful. She drew her wand, steadied her footing, and, carefully, she picked up the diadem.

She waited for something to happen, to protect the diadem, and stop her.

Nothing.

She brushed her fingers over it.

She clutched it in a fist, and headed out. She couldn’t actually manage to _get out_ , though. She’d tired to keep track of where she was going on the way in, memorizing her path with memorable junk, but it was useless. Things weren’t where she remembered, and she couldn’t get to the door. Every single time she thought she knew where she was going, she got lost again. She began to work up a sweat, and the cloak grew heavy on her back.

She looked at the diadem. “This is you, isn’t it?” she realized. This was how it was protected.

She couldn’t leave the room with it.

She should have brought the fire to destroy it. Instead, she’d have to find something here that might work. If she destroyed it, she would possibly destroy its ability to keep her lost. Or that was what she was hoping. She began to search the junk, and found a couple of truly fighting things, but nothing that seemed like it could actually destroy a Horcrux.

She found a jumper that she was certain had belonged to James.

Why had he hid a _jumper_ in here?

She’d have to ask him for the story. But, first, she’d have to get the fuck out of this place, and she wasn’t leaving without the Horcrux. She kept searching for a way to destroy it.

She tried to call for Kreacher.

But she wasn’t his master, and if he could hear her, he chose to ignore her.

How long had she been in here? When would Regulus start to worry? Would he come to find her?

She returned to James’s jumper, and picked it up, breathed in the smell. It didn’t smell like him, though. It smelled like dust, like old, faded cloth that had long ago been forgotten. It didn’t seem to be cursed at all, and she took off the cloak to pull on the old, black shirt, discovering that the cuffs were burned. She assumed that must’ve been part of whatever led to it being stashed in here. She picked up the cloak, and the diadem, too, and continued her search.

She found a knife, but her attempts to saw at the diadem were useless.

She’d just thrown it aside when she heard a snap, and spun to see a House Elf. He worked for Hogwarts, and for beautiful, breathless moment, she imagined that he could help her.

“Run, miss!” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Get out now before he gets here!”

“What?”

“You-Know-Who!” he squeaked. “He’s ordered us to be his spies, to tell him whenever anyone is up to something they shouldn’t be in Hogwarts, and he’s our Headmaster!”

She gaped.

“We can’t disobey him. We _can’t._ We’ve tried, but—he knows you’re here.”

“Can you help me?”

“You aren’t a student,” he said, and he smacked his head with the heel of his hand. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He disappeared again.

She scrambled to her feet, spinning. She fumbled to pull her cloak on, and when she saw the cabinet, she sprinted for it. She’d hide the diadem in the cabinet, and stay completely still under the cloak, and even if he had a way to trace his Horcrux, and find it, he wouldn’t be able to find her. She tossed the diadem in, and slammed the door shut after it.

But when she closed the door, she closed it on the cloak, and it tugged the cloak off her when she tried to turn, to get away from it.

She tore it open again in a frenzy to free herself.

Suddenly, objects were flying in the air, and she watched, saw they were being forced aside to allow a path.

She lifted her wand, aiming a spell into the path.

He deflected it easily, and she was face to face with Voldemort.

“You,” he said.

“ _Me_.”

“You were dead.”

“Would you believe me if I told you I was a ghost?”

His lip curled up, and he moved like a predator, circling. “You are cavalier for a woman who should have stayed dead, and now is going to meet a much, much worse death.”

She moved, too.

“What are you doing in this room?”

“I was looking for my husband’s lost jumper,” she said. “Don’t worry. I found it.”

He sent a jinx at her, but she lifted a shield in time.

“Where is the child?”

“Safe.”

“Do you truly believe that a _child_ can defeat me?” He tilted his head.

“It seems like you do.”

He attacked. She ducked his curse, and tried to disarm him, but he parried it, and struck back faster; this time, his jinx cut suddenly into her legs, and flipped her, sending her crashing onto her back against the cabinet. He disarmed her, and, with a twitch of his wrist, she felt an icy, invisible hand grasp her, lifting her up by the torso, and squeezing, taking her breath. She arched her back, crying at the sharp, biting pain to her ribs, and the grip only got together, cracking her ribs, squeezing her lungs, grasping the life from her.

She wanted to speak, and couldn’t.

“ _Where is the child_?”

The pressure disappeared suddenly, allowing her to slump uselessly against the cabinet.

“You will answer my questions, Mudblood. You will tell me why you are in this room, and you will tell me where the child is. And, when it comes, you will _beg_ for death.”

She gasped for breath, and it burned her raw, battered lungs.

“Where is the child?”

“I left a potion in here when I was a girl,” she told him. “I thought I could use it to break into the _prison_ you built in the middle of London. That’s why I’m in here. Happy?”

“You attacked the train,” he said.

“Yes.”

“Where is the child?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “You don’t get that one.”

“You think you can keep it from me? Do you know how easily I can look into your mind, and take it? Give it to me willingly, and I’ll kill you now, and spare you much worse.”

“Even if you look in my mind, you won’t find it,” she said, and it was the truth. She smiled. If this was her death, this was her death. But he _wouldn’t_ get her son. “You can’t,” she told him. “I passed him off to someone, and that someone got him to safety.”

“ _Crucio_!”

The pain was immediate, and _blinding._ She screamed, and arched off the ground; her bones were on fire, burning, and blistering, cracking, and coming apart inside her, making it impossible to move, to think, to escape the pain that consumed her, that was _killing_ her.

It disappeared.

She couldn’t stop shaking, though; she was crying.

“Where is the child?”

She looked up, and Voldemort’s gaze pinned her in place. She blinked, and it flashed in front of her. James was on the table, and Emmeline was on the floor, and she had to leave. There was the plane, and the door of Petunia’s flat, and she tried to close her eyes, to make it disappear, but she couldn’t. There was Harry on the bed, and her sister was hugging her, and promising to get Harry to safety. Lily sobbed, and Voldemort was before her again, cocking his head.

“You entrusted him to a _Muggle_?”

She closed her eyes.

“Don’t!”

Her eyes snapped open, and Voldemort turned.

It was Regulus.

“My lord, please,” Regulus said, hurrying to them. His didn’t look like himself; his eyes were wide, desperate. “If you have what you need, let me take her. Let me keep her.”

“Keep her?”

“I’m . . . attached to her.” He was closer, was moving in front of Lily.

“ _You_ faked her death?”

“Yes, my lord,” Regulus said, and his voice was stronger, surer. “I knew her at school, and I—I wanted her. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to keep her for myself. _Please_.”

“You _lied_ to me,” Voldemort said, furious, and he flicked his wrist, disarming Regulus.

“I know, and I am sorry. Please, my lord.” He dropped to his knees. “Truly, I am. But she isn’t the one you want. The prophecy is about her son. You don’t have to kill her. She’s nothing. She’s a _Mudblood_. Let me take her, and you’ll never have to think of her again.”

“She’s gotten away from you before.”

“I underestimated her.”

“Clearly.”

“I won’t do that again. Please.”

“Do you underestimate _me,_ Regulus?” Voldemort hissed.

“No, my lord! _No._ ”

“Then you simply think I am a fool, and you can do what you wish in _defiance_ of me?”

“No, my lord! No. _I_ was a fool, I know, and disloyal, and I beg your forgiveness. I beg you’ll punish me however you see fit. But, please, my lord. _Please_. Let me have her.”

“Move.”

“My lord, please—”

“ _Move_.”

“I—” He glanced over his shoulder at Lily.

She met his gaze, and hoped he understood. He’d tried. It was more than she ever could have asked for him.

She wanted to tell him to protect her baby, but she couldn’t in front of Voldemort.

He’d know, wouldn’t he?

“ _Regulus_.”

He mouthed something silently at Lily, and turned. She saw his back straighten. It took her a moment, but she realized what he’d mouthed.

“Do you wish me to kill you, too? This is the last chance I'll give you. _Move_.”

“No.”

“Very well,” Voldemort said.

“No,” Lily breathed, trying to push to her feet. “ _No_!”

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

Regulus never flinched.

In the instant before he was swallowed up in a burst of green, she squeezed her eyes shut, and did what he’d told her to: she wished to be hidden. _I need to be hidden from Voldemort. I need to be hidden from Voldemort, I need to be hidden from Voldemort_! She wished with everything in her, desperate.

She opened her eyes, and stared at a one-eyed, threadbare toy bear.

She was still in the Room of Requirement, but she was no longer in front of Voldemort.

Shaking, she pulled up the cloak, and disappeared just before she heard him. Around her, everything flew through the air, and he seemed to be flying, too, when he passed her.

“You cannot hide!”

She didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

But she couldn’t stay where she was with only a cloak to protect her; he’d find her. She went as fast as she could without making a sound, trying to find her way through the twisting, towering rows, and, without the Horcrux, she could. She saw the door, and she broke into a sprint for it She threw it open, and stumbled out into the corridor, breathless.

Nobody was waiting for her, but she knew Voldemort would be on her heels.

She took off.

She made it to the One-Eyed Witch, and out.

Even when she’d tumbled to the ground of the tunnel, she couldn’t stop running. She scrambled to her feet, and hurried into the darkness, keeping the cloak around her shoulders. She never should’ve taken it off, shouldn’t have been so stupid, so _thoughtless._

She should have remembered what Regulus told her before she came. It was the very last thing he’d told her! He shouldn’t have had to mouth it at her, reminding her.

He shouldn’t have had to die for her.

She gasped, and kept on running as fast as she could, feeling the old, burning pain from Voldemort’s earlier, grasping hand on her flare in her ribs; he must have fractured a couple of her ribs. It didn’t matter. She ran, straining her ears to hear someone after her.

She got to Honeydukes.

Sun was just starting to come in the windows of the shop, meaning she’d been in the Room of Requirement for hours; she’d passed the rest of the night in there.

On the street, it had started softly snowing, and Hogsmeade was quiet.

It was the very first snow of the winter.

She wanted to Apparate, but she couldn’t. She’d lost her wand. She tried to be careful to step where snow hadn’t gathered yet, so there wasn’t much of a trail. It grew more difficult by the minute, and she was struggling to breathe at this point, to move at all.

She couldn’t get out of Hogsmeade, and she didn’t try to.

She made it to the Shrieking Shack, and hoped the snow would pick up, and cover the tracks that she’d left in the field leading up to it. She burst in, and fell to her knees.

If anybody was following her, this was it.

She couldn’t get further.

That was when she allowed the sob in her chest to rise up, and choke her. She began to cry, curling up, and clutching at her knees, seeing the burst of green again when she closed her eyes. He was dead. Regulus was _dead_. Voldemort had killed him right in front of her because he’d refused to move, to let him kill her. They’d failed. Completely. She hadn’t even gotten the diadem. She’d lost her wand, given up who was protecting her son, and gotten Regulus killed.

\---

She stayed in the Shack that day, and gathered the strength to leave when it was dark out, and she had the cover of darkness to help her.

She went into the Hog’s Head.

It wasn’t crowded, but she was being reckless, and relying too much on the cloak. But she needed a wand if she wanted to get to safety, and this was the easiest way to get herself one. Most of the patrons of the pub were drunk, and, in the end, it was easy to slip a wand out from the robes of a large, balding man who was passed out at a table in the back.

She left the pub, and, in an alleyway, she Apparated.

Once she got into London, she walked.

The less she Apparated, the better; that was what Regulus had told her.

She’d listen to him now.

She got to the flat, and found it exactly as she’d left it. She drank water right from the tap, and assessed her ribs, seeing that the skin over them was bruised. Her torso, in fact, looked badly battered. She tried to heal herself some, but the wand was unruly, unhelpful. She found a bit of food, but she wasn’t very hungry. She found a cigarette, and smoked.

She tried to sleep, and her thoughts wandered endlessly.

She thought of her parents.

She wondered if her life would’ve gone differently if they’d lived. But in the ways that mattered, things would’ve been the same. She still would have gone to Hogwarts, would’ve made the same friends, and fallen in love with the same boy. And there still would’ve been a war, and she still would have ended up here, exhausted, and alone, staring at the ceiling of a flat that belonged to a good, kind boy who’d died to save her.

Why had he done that?

She thought of Sirius.

She thought of the summer before seventh year, and when she called James “a hugger,” and Sirius told her that was a lie, that James only liked to hug her because he liked getting to feel her tits all pressed up against him, so he’d found excuses to hug her a lot from the moment she’d grown tits. She’d thought he was teasing her, but he’d insisted. “Do you know how many sonnets about your tits I’ve been forced to listen to?” he’d asked, eyeing her breasts in that moment like they’d insulted him, and she’d just laughed.

James had returned form the kitchen, and asked what they were talking about.

“Have you written sonnets about my breasts?” she’d asked.

He’d dropped his gaze to her breasts, and she’d begun laughing again at his sigh. “Well, they’re really nice,” he’d told her. “All soft, and plump, and just the right size for—”

“I will _pay_ you to stop,” Sirius had said.

Lily had laughed until she’d cried, and she’d been so happy, so safe and so loved, so unafraid of anything.

She thought of her sister, and her baby.

 _Please be safe_ , she thought. _Please, please, please_.

She turned the rings on her fingers. She wore them constantly, and never paid them any mind, but she twisted them in her fingers now, and felt like there were all she had left. There was her engagement ring, and her wedding ring. There was the ring James's had given her in sixth year; it had been tarnished with dragon's fire. There was her mother's engagement ring. There was Marlene's old ring that looked like a crown, and that Lily had kept for herself. There was the woven gold ring with the emerald that James had given her when Harry was born. She didn't have people left; she just had pieces of them.

She was alone.

What did she do now?

Did she try to contact Dumbledore, and join the resistance that Regulus had claimed he’d formed? Regulus hadn’t trusted him, but she knew that Regulus was wrong not to. He might’ve been right that Dumbledore didn’t have her interests at heart, but that didn’t mean Dumbledore didn’t want to see Voldemort’s defeat, and that was her goal, too. She wanted to defeat Voldemort, and she wanted, well. She wanted what Regulus had promised her. She wanted her family back. Could she trust Dumbledore with their lives?

She slept.

And when she woke after only a few, restless hours, she sent a Patronus to Dumbledore. _Watchdog’s third favorite_. It was code for one of the places where Moody had established they meet after missions went awry, and for when.

\---

It was snowing again when she left the flat to see if Dumbledore got her message, and she bundled up, wearing James’s jumper, a coat over that, and the cloak on top, of course.

The park was empty when she arrived, and she was glad.

She waited, watching the snow cover her tracks, and feeling her feet go numb with the cold.

She swayed in place when she saw Sirius. For a moment, she didn’t really believe it was really _Sirius._ But it was. His hair was cropped, highlighting the angles of his face, and evidence of the ways they’d hurt him: he sported a long, thick scar over his eye that split his eyebrow, and his nose seemed to be crooked from a break that hadn’t been healed. She stared at him, watched him look about in search of something.

He was searching for her.

Was he working for Dumbledore? Was that possible? Could he have found a way to defy his cousin, and escape her control?

“I know you’re here,” he said. “You’ve got the cloak on, right? You’re too smart to go anywhere without it.”

She disarmed him.

He spun.

She lowered her hood.

His gaze went right to her, and fastened on. “Evans.”

“Paddy.” She licked her lips, and kept her wand on him when she asked. “Do you have fleas?”

“Never.”

The breath was punched from Lily’s lungs.

He smiled, and she broke, stumbling to him, and throwing her arms around him, forcing him to catch her. “Oh, _God_ ,” she cried, and _he hugged her back_. He’d grown much thinner, and smelled of a life she didn’t know anything about, but she couldn’t care less.

 _She had him back_.

“Did you miss me, Evans?” he asked.

“ _Yes_.”

“Should I ask your question?”

“Flowers are what I love most,” she lied, bright, and half-laughing with disbelief, and she pulled away from him just enough to smile tearfully at him. “I was never under it.”

“I know,” he said, and he touched her cheek.

She looked into her eyes, and realized. “But you lied to me,” she gasped. He’d lied to her, and passed the test.

Before she could yank herself away, his hands were on her throat, and he was strangling her. She struggled, clawing at his hands, and trying to throw him off. He laughed, and pressed his thumbs in, and she began to tear up, digging her nails uselessly into the backs of his hands. Desperate, she shoved her knee up, and managed to get him in the crotch.

It loosened his grasp, and she gulped in air, pressing at his chest to shove him away.

But he grabbed at arms, and stopped her escape; she tried to aim her wand at him, but he crushed her wrist in his grasp, making her cry out, and the wand slipped from her hold, then his hand was back on her throat, and he lifted her until her toes only just brushed the ground.

“I should have done this a long time ago,” he said, barring his teeth at her.

She pulled at his fingers desperately, and the edge of her vision began going black.

Everything seemed suddenly to happen at once: he went suddenly stiff, and seemed to sway on his feet. She pulled at his hands, and felt the start of his fall, then he was crashing onto his back, and taking her with him, hand still gripping her throat like iron.

The fall knocked what little breath was left in her lungs from her, but she managed to brace herself against his chest. She wrenched out of his hold on her neck, rolling off him, and struggling to get to her feet, wheezing, and searching wildly for her wand, or his, only to see who’d attacked him. He was a stranger, and he was rising to his feet with her wand in his hand.

She lunged for Sirius’s wand, coughing.

“It’s alright!” exclaimed the man, and he had an accent, though she didn’t know it. “I’m not here to hurt you! I was sent by—”

“Who the fuck are you?” she panted, pointing Sirius’s wand.

“My name is Oswald,” he said, holding up his hands to placate her. “Chris Oswald. I’m with the resistance. Dumbledore got the message you sent him, and he sent me.”

“I don’t know you.” Her voice was hoarse; it hurt her throat to speak.

“You can trust me,” he insisted. “I promise.”

Her chest shook with the start of mad, choking laughter. “Oh, right,” she rasped. “If you _promise_ , why _shouldn’t_ I trust you?”

“Lily, you sent Dumbledore a message that said _watchdog’s third favorite_. How would I know that unless the man who the message was meant for told me? And I knew that it meant this park at six became I’m a member of the Order, and I know the codes we use.”

“You aren’t a member of the Order.”

“I am! I—”

“Not the Order I was in,” she said. “They’re all dead, imprisoned, or turned.”

“There _is_ still a resistance,” he said, softer, and earnest.

“I wanted to talk to Dumbledore.”

“I can take you to him!” he assured. “He _sent_ me to get you. He would’ve come himself, but there aren’t a lot of us, and we’re stretched thin. But you _can_ trust me, Lily. And everyone from your Order _isn’t_ gone. There’s Alastor Moody, and Alice Longbottom—”

“Alice was killed.”

He frowned. “No. No! She wasn’t! She—”

There was a grab at her ankle.

Sirius yanked her off her feet, and she hit the ground, making her vision go spinning off. She kicked at Sirius, trying to scramble away from him, and fumbling with his wand.

“ _Avada_ —”

“No!” she screamed, and she disarmed the stranger, stopping him.

It gave Sirius the chance to scramble up, and onto her.

She wrestled with him, scratching, and kicking, and elbowing his side, gaining one up on him finally, and Stunning him. Her wand was only a breath from him, and the spell hit him so powerfully that it blasted him backwards. She collapsed on her back after, panting.

“Lily!” said the stranger.

She rolled out from under his shadow, and struggled up. “The resistance is _killing_ now?” she spat.

“This is a war.” He was confused. “If we’re going to win, we have to be soldiers.”

“Right.”

“Lily—”

“It’s not my war, though,” she told him, shaking her head. “I guess my war was lost, wasn’t it? We lost.” She swallowed. “Just go away,” she said. “Leave us be. Please.”

“Us? You and— _him_?” His eyes went wide. “That man was about to kill you!”

“How is that your business?”

“Lily—”

“Stop saying my name like you know who I am.”

“I _do_ know who you are,” he replied, hurt. “I’m here to get you to safety. We thought you were dead, but—”

“We?” she repeated.

He opened his mouth to repeat what he’d already been shoving down her throat.

“Stop,” she said. “Please. _Stop._ I don’t know who you think you are, or who you think _I_ am, and I—I don’t really care. I don’t care about a lot anymore, but I care about him. This man. He’s one of mine, alright? One of my boys. He’s mine, and I won’t let you kill him. Thank you for saving me earlier, but now I’m fine. Please. Just leave us be. _Please_.”

Her plea came out at a whisper.

She wanted to shout it. At this stranger, at Voldemort, at the whole fucking world, she wanted to shout it, to scream it, to make them hear it. _Go away_ , she wanted to yell. _Give me back my family, and leave us be. Just leave us be, world._ But she didn’t have the voice.

She’d lost that, too.

“If you change your mind, we’re here,” said the man.

She nodded.

He seemed to hesitate, but her gaze was unwavering, and, after a beat, he Apparated.

She looked at Sirius.

She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed hope until it had been given to her, then torn right away again, and now there was a cavern in her chest, black and gaping, and hurt.

For the most beautiful, wonderful moment, she’d really thought it was _her_ boy.

How had he known to come here? Had Voldemort instructed Bellatrix just to have him go to all of the places where he thought she could be? How had he known to lie?

Their code wasn’t foolproof, of course.

Somehow, Lestrange had found a way around it. Lily knew. The man who’d lured her into his grasp to strangle her wasn’t Sirius.

 _Leave us be_ , she’d said.

But there wasn’t an _us_ , was there? Sirius was gone, and this man was a puppet. He’d wake, and just try to kill her again. There had been a time when he’d been one of the people she trusted most in her life, one of the people she _loved_ most in her life, and now?

She was alone.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, looking at him. There was a scar on his bottom lip that hadn’t been there before. She touched his cheek, and took his hand, kissing his knuckles, and holding it to her cheek for a moment, closing her eyes. She breathed in, and out. Then she put his hand on his chest, and bent, kissing his forehead. “I miss you,” she said. She pushed to her feet, and walked away.

\---

She needed to decide what she wanted to do now. The longer she waited, the more difficult it would become to do anything.

Voldemort knew she was alive, and he was hunting for her.

She could try to find Petunia, and be with her son. But she had no idea where Petunia had gone, and she couldn’t exactly contact Petunia the way they’d planned, telling her to return to England. She couldn’t do anything that would mean Voldemort might find them, too.

More than anything in that moment, she wanted desperately to hold her baby.

The next time he saw her, would he remember her?

Even if she could find a way to be reunited with him, what kind of life would it end up being? She’d always know that Voldemort was searching for them. And what about James, and Sirius, and Emmeline? What about her auntie? Could she abandon her auntie?

Regulus had called her _broken._

Was there a way for Lily to break her out of Azkaban?

 _No._ There wasn’t. Even with help, it would be next to impossible, and she didn’t have help.

Did she try to finish what Regulus had started? They’d destroyed two of the Horcruxes. That was all she had helped with. How many were left? She had the means to destroy only one more. If she miraculously found more using Regulus’s notes, how would she destroy them? She was nearly out of Regulus’s money. Could she really do anything more?

He’d died, and for what? For _her_?

There was the resistance, but it wasn’t her resistance. Was that selfish? It might be, but she couldn’t bring herself to want to join it.

She’d fought her war, and lost it.

She made ivy sprout from the end of Sirius’s wand, twisting around her wrist. His wand obeyed her easily, and the ivy grew, and crept up her arms, circling her shoulder, and sneaking into her hair. It lifted the hair off her neck; she hadn’t realized how heavy her hair was. She looked at her nails; they were cracked, and jagged, overgrown, and unkempt. She tapered off the ivy, and tugged it off herself, leaving it on the tabletop.

She knew what she was going to do.

She took a bath; it was her first in a while. She cut her hair so that it didn’t even touch her shoulders, and she pared her nails, leaving them short, dull, and clean. She put on the dress that she’d taken from Petunia, and the jumper that James had felt the need to hide; she’d never get to know that story. She smoked a cigarette on the little smoking deck, and went in again, lifting the floorboard, and getting the jar of fire, watching the flames for a moment.

Rhubarb was watching her.

“I won’t be back,” she told him, bending to pet him. “I’m sorry, Rhu. But you were on your own before us, and you managed.” She scratched the underside of his chin. “I wasn’t ever good at taking care of anyone anyway.” She sighed, and he jerked his head out from under a kiss.

She left the door of the flat open for him to leave after her.

It was sleeting out, but the cloak kept her warm.

There was one thing left she could think to do, and she’d do it for him. Regulus. Her friend.

\---

Hogsmeade was quiet again that night, though the silence was broken after the sky went bright with a flash of lightning, and there was a roll of thunder. She stopped for a moment, watching the sky. She hadn’t known that it could thunder during a snowstorm.

Her auntie said once told her that _you are the storm_ , and it had made Lily brave.

She tightened her grip on the jar of fire.

She broke into Honeydukes, and went into the tunnel.

She didn’t know what was going to happen to James. She hoped that someday, somehow he’d find a way to be with Harry. Lily wouldn’t be able to put a message for Petunia in the paper to tell her that England was safe. But if ever the day came when it was, she hoped that her sister would realize it, and choose to return. She hoped that Petunia would find their aunt, and find James, and Harry would get a father. There was a lot that Lily hoped for, but she hoped for that most of all, wanted it most of all, wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything. Harry deserved to have his father, and to know him, to know that his father was brave, and loyal, and _good_ , and loved him so dearly. And James? He deserved it, too.

In the castle, she crept as quickly as she could for the Room of Requirement.

She had no idea how long it would be before her presence was reported to Voldemort.

She reached it, and found it exactly as she’d left it. She knew that Voldemort had made a mess of things when he’s chased her out before, yet it remained a maze of old, forgotten things. She frowned. It seemed too easy how she’d just come right back in, how nobody had been in the corridors, how nobody had come even close to crossing her path, and stopping her. She’d done this exact same thing only days ago, and gotten herself caught, and nobody at Hogwarts had thought to put any new, extra protections in place to stop anyone from doing it again?

She started to make her way towards the cabinet.

What were the chances that Voldemort hadn't moved the Horcrux from where she'd stashed it? That he'd have bought her lie about looking for a potion? That he'd never, ever suspect a useless orphan Mudblood of learning about his Horcruxes, and going after them?

Suddenly, she was clipped in the head by the corner of a broken wall mirror.

She touched her head, and winced, and saw a sneaker go by, and a book, and, in a blink, the room was a whirlwind; she took off at a sprint, and objects soared through the air around her, over her, spinning without direction, and smacking into her side, tripping her.

She pitched off her feet, and lost her breath when she hit the ground, banging her head.

“You are a fool to return,” he hissed, and his voice was everywhere at once.

She struggled up, having to duck down again to avoid a spinning, screaming sneakoscope that nearly took her head off.

She glanced over her shoulders, and saw him.

He was gliding right _above_ the ground, and none of the cursed, flying objects came near him.

He saw her, too; her fall had tossed the hood of the cloak off her.

She ran.

She was smacked in the hip by a clock, and she tripped on something, almost toppling over into a pile of books that crashed to the floor. He sent a hex at her, and it came so close that she felt the heat of it on her cheek. She scrambled up, and she saw the cabinet.

She had to get to it.

She hurled a curse at him, and sprinted blindly towards the cabinet, the world narrowing around her path. She got to it, wrenched the door wide open, and the hex hit her in the back, slamming her into the cabinet, and sending it crashing to the floor along with her.

She blacked out for a second, dizzy.

But when she regained her bearings, he was right in front of her, and his wand was aloft. Around them, the room was still once more.

“Have you been waiting in here for me?” she asked, tasting her blood.

“I didn’t think you’d be foolish enough to return, but I wanted to be certain I knew if you did.”

“Congratulations.”

He titled his head. “You—” He stopped, and his eyes went wide.

She looked, and there it was.

Her gaze flew to him even as he looked at her. Time slowed, and spun suddenly out of control: his face contorted, and he lifted his arm, and she snatched the jar from her cloak, slamming it onto the ground, and unleashing the fire.

It exploded into the cabinet, engulfing her arm.

The diadem actually _shrieked_.

Over the flames, she met his gaze, and watched the words form on his lips.

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

She saw a bird on a hat, and her sister pressing her nose to the top of Harry’s head, and a little, bright-eyed boy. “Here I am!” he exclaimed, and Lily smiled, and the world was bathed in green.


	7. Chapter 7

There was a breath without noise when she blinked, and saw James, felt his hands on her. But his face was wrong, changed, and disappeared into darkness after another blink.

She woke.

It was slow at first, creeping up on her. She heard water dripping. She was in a bed, and the edges of curtains over the window were glowing with sunlight. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and the room came into focus. She didn’t know where she was.

Her head was aching, though, and her mouth tasted sour from sleep.

She tensed, remembering the Room of Requirement, and the diadem, and Voldemort.

He’d killed her.

But she was lying in a bed, and this couldn’t be what death looked like. The bed was small, and the sheets were cheap, scratching her skin. She was in her dress, and must have been for a while: it _smelled_ , and was stained with blood, singed from flames. She looked at her arm, and saw it was covered in shiny pink scars from where it had been burned with the diadem. She'd been healed, though. Someone had taken care of her, had assured that the burns were treated. On a chair by the bed, James’s jumper was folded neatly, and the cloak was there, too. Where was she? What had happened? _How was she alive right now?_ She got out of bed.

Her legs were shaky under her, and her feet were in large, unfamiliar socks.

Had someone come to her rescue in the nick of time? _Who_?

She was wandless, but that wasn’t new these days. She got the cloak, pulling it tightly over her shoulders, and disappearing. She crept to the door, and strained her ears.

It was quiet.

She opened the door as slowly as she could, peeking.

It was a dark, empty hallway.

She left the room, closing the door behind her, and tiptoeing to where the hallway ended, and opened to a small sitting room. The place was like Regulus’s flat: sparsely decorated, and barely lived in, but there were signs that somebody did, in fact, live there. She saw a door that looked like it would take her _out_ of the flat, and headed for it.

She winced when she took a step, and a floorboard creaked _loudly_ at her.

“How far do you plan to get without a wand?”

She spun.

It was Severus Snape. Her heart leapt into her throat. He was a Death Eater, was—

He was staring to the side of her. He’d heard her, but he couldn’t see her. Good, because Sirius’s wand was pointed right at her. It was as though he read her thoughts. “This isn’t actually your wand, is it?” he continued, and she realized that he wasn’t actually aiming the wand at her; he was holding it out to her.

Silently, she moved, and snatched the wand from his grasp.

She expected a reaction from him, but he remained calm, and still, waiting.

She pulled off her hood.

“Would you like something to eat?” he asked, meeting her gaze. “I assume you have a lot of questions. I’d like to be able to answer them for you, and I just made myself supper.”

“How about we just start with the questions?”

He tilted his head.

“I was in the Room of Requirement,” she said, “and I was about to die. I _heard_ him say the spell. I woke up, and I was here, and if this it what happens after death, consider me confused, and kind of disappointed. Otherwise, I’m going to need you to explain how the _hell_ I’m alive right now.”

“You defeated him.”

“What?”

He frowned. “You say you were about to die?”

“I heard him say the words, and the last thing I remember was everything going green.”

“I see.”

She stared.

“I arrived to find the—you called it the Room of Requirement?—in shambles. You were unconscious, and the Dark Lord was dead. I’d assumed that you’d killed him."

She shook her head.

"His attempt to kill you somehow must’ve reverberated, and killed him instead," Severus said, and his brow was still furrowed. "That would explain the scar on your forehead. I have never seen anything like it before. But, then, nobody’s ever survived the Killing Curse before. I don’t know how you managed to.”

She reached up to touch her forehead, feeling a thin, scabbing mark. "He's dead?"

"Yes."

"You're _certain_?"

"Yes. I found him dead, and you were unconscious, and badly hurt. I brought you here."

“Why?”

“If any of the Death Eaters had found you with his body, they would have killed you on the spot.”

“You say that like _you_ aren’t a Death Eater."

“I was.”

That was it; that was all he had to say, and it was quiet. She pressed her fingers to her temple. None of this seemed real. “ _Voldemort_ is dead?” she said. “He’s gone?”

“ _Yes_.”

She let out a breath. “Oh, my . . .” She shook her head, felt a laugh in her throat.

“News of his death was quick to travel,” Severus said. “Students, I think. The resistance under Dumbledore took Hogwarts back only days after his death, pushing his followers out, and, in a week, a force of French, American, and Canadian resistance fighters managed to reclaim the Ministry. Many of his followers fled almost as soon as his body was found; other have been caught in the past few weeks, and are going to be put on trial.”

“Weeks?” she repeated.

“Three,” he said. “Three weeks, and four days.”

“How—?”

“You were very badly hurt,” he explained. “Burned, and battered. You woke several times, but you were without any strength, and faded off again within minutes.”

“But it’s over now?” she said. “The war, and . . . it’s _over_?”

“Yes.”

She was tearing up, but she looked at him, and swallowed, trying to keep herself in check. “How do I know I can I trust you? You could be making all of this up. I don’t know why you would, but . . .”

“You want proof?” He turned very abruptly, and she followed him to what turned out to be the kitchen, and a stack of the _Prophet_. “It’s once again a source of news, and no longer a source of propaganda for the Dark Lord." He handed her the copy on top.

The headline was talking about the shutdown of the prison in London.

“I have no reason to lie to you,” Severus said.

She skimmed the article, rifled through the paper. She reached for more of them, reading the headlines, and flipping through the pages. It matched everything that he’d told her. There were articles about Hogwarts, and the resistance, about foreigners who stormed the Ministry, and took it back; there were articles by the dozen on the trials of Death Eaters.

There was an article about her, too.

It was in a copy of the _Prophet_ at the bottom of the stack, the oldest.

Half of the copy’s front page was taken up with a headline that appeared by the letter, over and over, spelling _WHO DEFEATED HIM?_ She had to read it. It started with a summary of events that matched what Severus had told her, explaining that Voldemort’s body was found in a hidden, little-used room at Hogwarts, but there was no evidence of how he was killed, or who was responsible. The article then quoted a House Elf who explained that, earlier, Lily Potter had come to Hogwarts, and had confronted Voldemort in the very room where he had died, escaping with her life. _Had she returned only days later to face him again?_ asked the article. It gave a history of her life, and explained that her death was reported months ago, but Christopher Oswald, Jr. stated that he’d spoken with her much more recently, and several people claimed that she'd coordinated their escape from the train that was taking them to the Hole. According to the _Prophet_ , efforts to contact her family were unsuccessful. The article ended with a series of questions. Where was Potter? Had she perished? Would the world ever be able to repay the debt to her?

It was unbelievable.

There was a photograph of her, too. It was old, but she placed where it was from after a moment; Mr. Mueller had taken it when she’d first started working for him. She was stunned a little, looking at herself: young, dressed up, and her hair twisted up with ivy, beaming.

“People are calling you the Woman Who Saved the World,” Severus said.

“I’m still not sure I believe it’s really been saved,” she replied. “I thought I was . . .” She had gone to Hogwarts that day to finish what Regulus had started, and die doing it.

“Would you like something to eat?” he asked.

She looked at him.

“You need to eat,” he said. “The potions I’ve given you are insufficient to—”

“I’ll eat later,” she told him. “I—if this is all true, I need to go. If it’s over, then I need to find my family.”

“It isn’t safe for you to leave.”

“The war’s over!”

“Many of his followers are still on the loose, and wouldn’t hesitate—”

“Do you mean to include yourself in that?”

He was silent.

“You _were_ a Death Eater. I saw it myself. Why should I trust _you_?"

“I turned.”

She stared.

"Voldemort is dead," he said. "What good would it do me to be loyal to him now?" He raised his eyebrows.

"But I should fear other, more loyal Death Eaters?" she said. She didn't give him a chance to reply. "Look, I’m going. I _need_ to go. I haven’t seen my family in— _months_. I haven’t seen James since I had to Stun him because he was under the Imperius Curse!”

“Things have changed.”

“Yes,” she said. “The war ended; that’s what changed.”

“He remarried.”

“But he’s alright, isn’t he?” Lily asked. Suddenly, her heart was beating too fast. “He wasn’t killed, or . . . ?” She was afraid to hear the answer.

But when Severus said nothing, she knew what that meant. He hated James. He would've gladly told her that James was dead.

“I have to go,” she said. “I owe you. For getting me out of there, and saving me, and taking care of me. I know you didn’t have to. But you’ve been taking care of me _here_ , in secret, for _weeks_ , and nobody even knows where I am, including my family. My _husband._ And not just James, but my auntie, and—” She sighed. “I _have_ to go. I promise I won’t tell anyone where you are. And if you end up on trial, I’ll speak for you. That’s what you wanted, right? That’s why you saved me? You saw the writing on the wall, and knew you’d need an advocate?”

It took him a moment to reply, but when he did, it was in the form of a curt nod.

"Alright, then,” she said.

He didn’t try to stop her again when she moved past him. She went back to the bedroom she’d been in, grabbing James’s jumper, and made a beeline for the door to leave. She wasn’t going to waste any more time.

\---

She realized as soon as she stepped into the street that she wasn’t wearing any shoes, and she choked on a laugh. But she wasn’t going back. She made certain that the cloak was snug on her shoulders, hiding her completely, and she Apparated to the middle of London.

She needed to see for herself that this was all truly _real_.

The doors of the gate to the prison were thrown open. The bodies were gone. Tents were set up, and people were milling about, and lining up to what she realized where several large cauldrons of food. There were officials who seemed to be on patrol, but they weren’t in the garb of Voldemort’s followers. They looked like they were from the Ministry. She knew what she was seeing. It was real. The prison was closed, and the people were freed.

She needed to go to her auntie’s.

That was where she’d start.

She’d go _home_.

Her auntie would’ve been released from Azkaban, right? She Apparated to James’s told house, starting out for her auntie’s immediately, and breaking into a run when it came into view. The door was closed, and she pounded on it, bursting in when she found it was unlocked. “Auntie!” she yelled. There wasn’t an answer, and she knew nobody was there, but it was clear that somebody _had_ been there since that last, awful day Lily had seen it; the mess from before had been picked up, and there were dishes soaking in the kitchen sink. Her auntie had been released from Azkaban, and she’d come home to her beloved little cottage.

Lily was about to conjure her Patronus, but she hesitated.

She needed to find her auntie for herself. In person. She didn’t want anyone to intercept her message, to ambush her.

Her auntie was likely at Hogwarts, right?

But Lily couldn’t just Floo into her auntie’s office like she’d done countless times when she was a girl. She'd skimmed an article in the _Prophet_ that said the network was closed completely until things got settled with the government. She’d have to Apparate to Hogsmeade, and go from there.

The village was bustling when she appeared in the rocky outlook nearby it.

She smiled.

She didn’t take the passage from Honeydukes this time; she was in too much of a hurry, and there wouldn’t be Dementors on the grounds to stop her from going another way.

She went to the Shack, and emerged from beneath the Whomping Willow.

The caste showed the scars of a battle. It was burned, and edged with rubble. One of the towers had been destroyed, and the Owlery had taken a hit. She crossed the grounds, and went in the front, seeing the echoes of a hard fight there, too. Portraits were in tatters, and their occupants had fled, windows were broken, large scotch marks stained the floors, and the tapestries.

The old, familiar rumble of voices came from the Great Hall, but she ignored the sound, taking the stairs.

They shifted under her, and she panicked, grabbing at the railing.

She’d half lost her mind, hadn’t she?

The stairs at Hogwarts liked to move; that wasn’t shocking, and it certainly wasn’t frightening.

She reached her auntie’s classroom finally. It was empty, but she heard her auntie’s voice drift from the office right above, and tears sprang inadvertently to her eyes at the sound. She took the stairs two at a time. The door was ajar, and Lily swayed in the doorway for a moment, looking in. Her auntie was behind her desk, talking to Sprout, Flitwick, and Moody.

She’d aged _so much_ , had lost weight, and grayed, and was moving stiffly, but she was _alive._

Lily sobbed.

Immediately, all of their faces snapped to where she stood.

She tore back her hood.

Auntie gasped.

Lily ran at her. Her auntie’s chair toppled when she stood, and Lily threw herself into her auntie’s arms. “Oh,” Auntie breathed, and she hugged her, and her hands grasped at Lily’s arms, at her shoulders, at her back. “My girl,” she murmured. “Oh.” She pressed her hand to the back of Lily’s head, holding her closer. “ _My girl._ ”

“It’s over, isn’t it?” Lily cried. She felt like a child. “It’s really, _finally_ over?”

“Yes, my dear. _Yes_. It is over.”

Lily pulled away enough just to look at her auntie, and she laughed, wiping at her cheeks. “I went to the cottage,” she said, “and I was going to send you a Patronus, but I . . .”

Auntie smiled. “I know.” Her gaze swept over Lily.

“What?” Lily said.

“My dear.” Auntie frowned, and met Lily’s gaze with concern. “What happened to your _shoes_?”

\---

Moody wanted to talk to her about what exactly had happened with Voldemort, how he’d died, and where she’d been since. But she didn’t have time for that now. She knew a lot of people were going to want to talk to her, that there were a lot of things she needed to explain. She needed a lot of things to be explained _to_ her, too. Explanations could wait, though.

“I’ve got to get Harry back,” she said, looking at her auntie.

“He’s safe?”

Lily nodded. “I took him to Petunia, and she went into hiding with him. I don’t know where she went, but we worked out a way for me to let her know that it was safe to return. She’ll bring him back as soon as she knows.”

“Good,” Auntie said. “Good. We’ll get him back.” She smiled.

“Auntie, what about James?” Severus had said he was okay, but. “Do you know where he is?”

“The greenhouses,” Auntie said.

“Here?”

Auntie nodded, and her eyes crinkled with her smile. “ _Here_. Our greenhouses. Go. I’ll get in touch with Dumbledore, and tell him you’re back.” She touched Lily’s cheek. “Go."

She passed a lot of people on her way to the greenhouses, but she kept her hood on.

Most of the greenhouses were destroyed, but it was clear that someone was camping out in the one that remained. There were blankets on the ground, and a couple of lanterns, and one of the tables was cleared of plants, and covered in parchment, in maps, and blueprints.

She looked at a piece of parchment, and recognized James’s handwriting.

There was a sigh, and she spun.

Remus had walked in, drinking from a mug.

He was so thin it was frightening. He was unshaven, red-eyed, and exhausted, but he was _Remus_ , and he was right in front of her. She hadn’t seen him in over a year, had assumed that he was dead, and here he was. _Alive_. She pulled back her hood. “Remy!”

He splashed his drink on himself.

“I’ve got it narrowed down,” James said, walking in after Remus. “It’s got to be Malfoy, Carrow, Avery, or Snape. One of them has _got_ to have her, and—” He stopped.

She shuddered, looking at him, and trying to remember to breathe.

They moved at the same exact time, meeting in the middle: she crashed into him, and he caught her, lifted her off her feet. She sobbed, hugging his neck, and hanging off him, refusing to let go. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry I left you. I shouldn’t have, but I was scared, and confused, and I—” She pressed her face into his neck. “ _I’m so sorry._ ”

“No,” he said, voice thick with tears. “Don’t.” He turned his face, and his breath was hot on her cheeks. “You didn’t leave me. You _escaped_. Don’t apologize for that.” He held her tighter.

“I love you,” she cried.

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered. “I saw your _body_. They—”

She shook her head. “No. It was faked. I’m fine. I’m here.” Her feet touched the ground, but he didn’t let go of her; she wouldn’t have let him if he tried to. She held his face in her hands, and drank in the sight of him, the shape of his face, and the bow of his lip, his thick, unruly eyebrows, and his long, elegant eyelashes. He was staring at her, too, was drinking her in. Their eyes met. She surged in, and he kissed her, open-mouthed, and desperate.

“I love you,” he breathed. “I love you _so fucking much_.”

She touched her forehead to his.

“Harry?”

“He’s with my sister,” she told him, and she laughed. “He’s safe.”

He grinned. “Yeah?”

She nodded.

His hands traced up her back to touch her shoulders, and down again, over her hips and her ass and her legs, and back up, moving into her hair, fisting in the curls. “I’m sorry that we left that night," he said. “We never should have. It was stupid.” He shook his head. “It was reckless, and we should’ve realized that he was—that Pete, that he was—”

“It doesn’t even matter,” she said. “It’s over.”

His hands tightened in her hair until it was painful. “I thought you were _dead_.”

She kissed him.

“There’s stuff I have to tell you,” he said. His hands slipped out of her hair, and down, under her cloak. “I thought you were dead, and they—I didn’t have a choice, I—”

“Rowle?” she said. “You’re talking about Rowle?”

“It was never real,” he said. “I swear. I had to do it, but I never—I hated her, and she hated me, and it wasn’t a real marriage, I never—”

“I know,” she assured. “You had to do it for Remus. Regulus explained.”

He frowned. “Regulus?”

She brushed the hair back from his face. “I have a lot to tell you.”

“Just—as far as I'm concerned, that marriage wasn't real. How could it be? I was already married. And if I never see Rowle again, it'll be too soon." He looked at her earnestly, and she nodded. "Yeah?" he said, and when she smiled, he smiled. "Alright." He swallowed. "Now you. Start at the beginning. After you figured out they’d got me, you took Harry to Petunia?” He moved as though to sit, and grabbed her hand, bringing her with him.” You—oh, you want something to eat?” He pushed a hand into his hair, keeping another hand on her. “Or drink?”

“What do you want?” Remus asked. “I’ll get it for you.”

“I’m fine,” Lily said.

James touched her throat. There were still marks, although the bruises had faded, and were a sickly brownish yellow. He frowned, and his eyes went to her forehead.

“Really,” she promised. “I’m fine.”

“I’m going to fucking murder that fucking, bearded fucker!” Sirius exclaimed. “He—” He gaped. “Evans?” He let out a breath, and started to smile, starting for her.

She pressed into James.

Sirius froze, and the smile slipped off his face as quickly as it had appeared.

“You’re _you_?” she asked, soft.

“He is,” James said. His voice was hard. “Bellatrix is dead.”

She looked at him.

His face had gone tight, and she could see the tick in his jaw. He met her gaze. “I killed her.”

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his temple.

“What did I do to you?” Sirius asked.

“What?" Guilt flooded her throat, and she shook her head. "No, I—”

“It must have been something, right?” He sniffed. “I didn’t know what I was doing while I was doing it, but a lot is starting to come back to me in pieces. So. Just tell me.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t do a thing to me.” She started for him.

“Evans.”

“ _She_ did,” Lily said, and she touched his shoulders. “Not you.” She hugged him. “ _Never_ you.”

His arms came around her, but he was holding her loosely. Uncertain.

She kept on hugging him, though, and she turned to rest her cheek on his chest.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he murmured.

“I love you, too.”

He bent his head, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, and his arms tightened around her, hugging her back properly.

“I have a lot to tell you,” she said when they broke apart at least. She squeezed his hand, and looked at James, at Remus, and went to Remus to hug him, too. He smelled like chocolate, and it made her smile.

“You want to tell us how you defeated Voldemort?” Sirius asked.

“I think I should start with the reason I’m alive, and had the _chance_ to defeat Voldemort,” she said. James pulled her into his lap, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. “Voldemort would’ve killed me, but someone stopped him, and sacrificed his life for me.” She looked at Sirius. “I don’t know how much of it was for me, though, and how much of it was for his big brother.”

\---

They filed into Dumbledore’s office together, crowding it. The place looked so different from how Lily remembered it, and she realized that Voldemort had occupied it for months. James took a seat, and Lily took his lap; Remus had a seat, and Sirius stood at his back, and her auntie was there, too.

It was Lily who Dumbledore wanted to speak to, though.

Lily explained how Regulus had found her at her auntie’s, and offered her protection.

“I’d contacted everyone I could think of, but nobody had replied.”

“By the time I was able to respond to your message, I believed you were dead,” Dumbledore said. “For that, I am sorry.” He smiled, and it was sad, genuine.

She said that Regulus had faked her death, though she didn’t even know for months. She explained that she hid in his flat day after day, trying to plot a way to rescue her family, to combat Voldemort, to do _something_. She talked about her raid on the train, and their plans to break into the prison.

“How did you end up at Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked.

She told the lie that she’d told Voldemort. There was a potion. She held Dumbledore’s gaze, and explained that they thought it would be easier to sneak into Hogwarts than procure the ingredients to make it from scratch.

He didn’t need to know about the Horcruxes.

“We were caught, though,” she said. “ _I_ was caught, and Voldemort was going to kill me. Regulus rushed in, and tried to stop him, to convince him I wasn’t worth killing. He couldn’t, so, instead, he distracted him. He refused to get out of the way, and he died. He died to give me the chance to escape. It worked. I got out, made it safely to Hogsmeade.”

His hand sliding over hers, James knitted their fingers.

“I went back, though. I was alone, and what else was there for me to do? I tried to contact you, and you sent a stranger to collect me.”

“I was thoughtless,” Dumbledore said, soft.

“I was alone,” Lily replied, and it came out like an accusation. In the pit of her stomach, she knew that it was. “I was alone, and I was exhausted, and I was hopeless. I thought that it was over. I thought we’d lost the war, and that was that. I figured there was nothing left for me to but try, even if fruitlessly, to finish what we’d started. I went back to Hogwarts, and Voldemort was waiting. I guess I knew he would be. He tried to kill me, but . . .”

Dumbledore waited.

“I thought he had. The last thing I remember was him killing me. I heard him say it, and was blinded by it. _Green_. Then I woke up, and I was fine, and being told _he_ was dead.”

He frowned.

She told him that Severus had gotten her out, and looked after her. “That’s it,” she said. That was the series of events that she was willing to share with him here, and now.

“The mark on your forehead,” Dumbledore said, and it was a question.

“Snape thought it was from Voldemort’s spell.”

“I see.”

“How could she possibly have survived?” Auntie asked.

“I can only tell you what I suspect,” Dumbledore said. “Love is a powerful, _powerful_ thing, and often very underestimated. I believe it protected Lily.” He looked at her. “Regulus’s love when he sacrificed his life for you gave you a shield of sorts. He didn’t have to die for you. He chose to, and that protected you in more ways than you, or Voldemort, or even Regulus when he made the choice, could have realized at the time.”

“Did you want the prophecy to be true?” she asked.

His eyebrows flew up.

“Did you _want_ it to be true?” She stared. “Did you want my son to save the world?”

It was quiet.

In that moment, she was certain that Dumbledore knew what she was asking. _Did you keep us trapped in England because you wanted us to be caught?_ She waited, remembering what Regulus had told her, and burning with the memory of him, with everything he’d given her.

“I would never wish a burden like that on anyone, let alone a child,” he said. “But I believed it could be true.”

She was silent.

“It’s late,” James said, clearing is throat, “and I’m starved. I think we’ve gotten it all out, haven’t we?” He glanced at Remus, and at Sirius. He turned to Dumbledore. “Think we could call it a night?”

\---

She didn’t really want to stay the night at Hogwarts, knowing that there were people who wanted to bombard her with questions, and would as soon as they saw her.

Instead, they went to her auntie’s house to eat, and to sleep.

Her auntie brewed them a pot of tea, and Sirius made pasta to go with a sauce that Remus cooked up. James said he’d do the dishes after, and he did, washing them like a Muggle with his arms in warm soapy water up the elbows, and Lily helped him, drying the dishes that he passed to her. Sirius found her auntie’s old scotch, and they drank around the table.

“I’ll take the sofa,” Sirius said.

“Nonsense,” Auntie said. “Take Petunia’s room. The sheets are clean.”

“ _I’ll_ take the sofa,” Remus said, and Auntie frowned.

“Nonsense,” Sirius said.

Lily rose to her feet, and gave her auntie a kiss. She reached for James’s hand. “We’ll take my room, and see you in the morning.” She smiled, and headed for the stairs.

Up in the attic, she tapped on the lights with James’s wand.

The room was untouched.

It was like walking into a memory of growing up. There were round, spiral rugs on the ground from when she’d taken up magical rug making for a month the summer after their third year. Little paper flowers that she’d made from parchment when she was bored in class were displayed in a kettle that she’d broken to her auntie’s displeasure. There were photographs that she’d stung up on a rope with clothespins, and posters from the bands she liked on the walls. Nail polish, lipsticks, and hair potions littered the top of the bureau. The beautiful silver robes from Mrs. Potter hung against the wall, and a little stag plushie that James gave her for her birthday in their sixth year sat in the center of her bed.

Despite all he’d taken from her, Voldemort had never been able to take this from her.

She’d had a childhood that was good, and happy.

James hugged her from her behind, and she leaned into his chest.

He took her hand, lifting her arm, and pressing a kiss to her palm, and her wrist, and the stretch of her pink, scarred inner arm. “You haven’t told me about this yet,” he murmured. Both of her hands were burned now, and one of her arms up to her elbow.

She turned in his arms. “Can I tell you later?”

He nodded.

She kissed him softly, and moved past him to close the door, and turn the lock. His hand stayed on her hip, and when she turned to him again, he ran his hand up her back, and into her hair. She began to unbutton the top of her dress, and lifted her hands up over her head for him to pull the dress up, and off. She undid his trousers, and he pulled off his shirt.

He kissed her.

She ran her hands up his chest, and over his shoulders, and she saw the tattoo. It circled his bicep. “Ivy?” she said, rubbing her thumb slowly over the black, curling vine.

“They were trying to erase you.” His voice was rough. “To pretend that you hadn’t even existed.”

She leaned her forehead on his.

“I wanted them to know I wouldn’t forget,” he said. “That I knew who I belonged to, and they couldn’t change that. Even if you were dead, I’d never . . .” He shook his head.

She kissed him.

She took his hand, and took him to the bed. Beside it, she pulled off her pants, and he did the same, shucking his trousers, and his boxers, and pulled her into his arm. He kissed her, and he unhooked her bra, and when she’d slid it of her arms, his hands were warm on her ribs, and he bent his head, kissing her neck, and her collarbone, and the top of her breast. She curled her hands in his hair, and held his head to her breasts, closing her eyes.

He lifted his head at last to kiss her on the mouth, and his hands went down her back.

She moved him back to the bed.

He sat on the edge, and she straddled his lap.

“Glasses?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I want to see you.”

Her breath hitched when she sank onto him, and she hugged his neck, tilting her hips, and closing her eyes at the feeling of him filling her up. He gripped her ass, and shifted her.

She opened her eyes, and held his gaze when she rolled her hips, and they began to move.

The bed squeaked under them.

“I love you,” he panted.

“I missed you,” she told him. “I was losing it without you. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t—” She breathed in sharply. “I just wanted you back so _badly_. I _needed_ you—”

“They can’t take me away again,” he swore. “ _Fuck_ , Lily. Fuck, you—”

“I love you, too,” she gasped. She was crying. “You _are_ mine. You’ve always been mine. My James, _mine_.”

“I was ready to marry you when I was five years old.”

She arched until his chest, curving her back, and crying out because _there_ , and he pressed his lips to her neck, groaning when she tightened on him, and they came together.

She pressed her face into his hair, trying to catch her breath.

She lifted her head at last, and past James’s face, saw the plushie. She snorted.

“What?”

“We’ve just ruined his innocence.”

He glanced over his shoulder to see the plushie with his stitched on smile, staring at them with his blue marble eyes. He laughed, and he kissed her. “I think he’ll recover.”

Reluctantly, she moved off him, and let him slip out of her.

She stretched out on her bed, and James looked at her. His gaze swept over her, and she let it, smiling for him. “You know, I used to fantasize about you. I’d lose sleep over it.”

“You better still fantasize about me, mister.”

He grinned, and ran a hand up her calf. “It’s different.”

“How is that?”

“Back in fifth year, Sirius got his hands on these magazines. They had, um, tips in them about how to please your witch, and all that, but, you know, mostly, they were just pictures of witches who were not your witch in various positions, and . . . states of nakedness.”

She laughed. “I think I get the idea.”

“I used to look at those pictures, and think about you.”

“Liar.”

“Really! I wondered—I’d looked at the pictures, and I’d wonder how _your_ tits must look when you were flat on your back like this, and I’d try to guess what color your nipples were, and—I’d like you to know I got that right, by the way. I guessed they’d be just this shade of pink.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“That’s right,” he said. He bent, and kissed her nipple, making it tighten, and pebble. She brushed a hand through his hair. “Of course, this was back in our fifth year, when you hated my guts, and, just guessing here, probably wouldn’t have been thrilled to know that I wanked off every night wondering what color the curls between your legs were.”

“Mmm, yes,” she said, amused. “I think that’s a safe assumption. But I didn’t _hate your guts_.”

“Did, too.”

“I just thought you were a bully, and it drove me crazy, because I didn’t understand _why_.”

“It’s because I was stupid, and spoiled, and didn’t know any better.”

She smiled. “Can I make a confession?”

He nodded.

“I never, ever even _once_ wondered what your bits looked like.”

He gasped dramatically, touching a hand to his heart, and she laughed, and pulled at his arms, pulling him close. He kissed her, and rose up again just to remove his glasses, setting them aside before moving to lie beside her.

She turned onto her side, facing him. There was something on his face. "What?"

"You've lost weight," he said, soft.

"I've been living off cigarettes, crisps, and despair."

He stroked her hair.

She bit her lip. “There’s stuff I still have to tell you, you know."

“I know.”

“Things I didn’t want to tell Dumbledore.”

“You don’t trust him?”

She bit her lip. “I . . . it’s just something that Regulus made me think about.”

“I think there’s a lot that we all still have to talk about.”

She reached out, touching his cheek. “You haven’t told me anything about what happened to you.”

“Not a lot.”

“I don’t believe you.” She waited.

He sighed. “They had me in Azkaban, and that was awful, but.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t like your aunt. They tortured me some, trying to get me to beg, and trying to get me to turn. But they needed to get information from her. I listened to her scream, and that was the worst.”

Lily felt tears prick her eyes.

“And, well, eventually, they took me out, and made me marry Rowle. She wasn’t any more thrilled about it than I was, and we just kind of . . . co-existed. But they stuck us under Carrow’s watch. They locked us up, and gave her the key. There weren’t Dementors at her house, so there was that, but instead I had to listen to Carrow make these comments about how if I’d give fucking a Pureblood a chance, I’d like it, and—” His face contorted with disgust. “—and how my wife might not be willing to let me do whatever I wanted to her the way that _I was accustomed to_ , but didn’t I want an heir?” He shook his head. “I hated that woman. Voldemort would come to talk, too, and torture me just like in Azkaban, but. It was worse when he brought Sirius, and Sirius was— _not_ Sirius. The things Bellatrix did to him, and made  _him_ do . . .”

“It makes me sick to think about,” Lily admitted softly.

“He hates himself for it, you know, and Remus? He . . . that prison?”

“I know.”

“The worse thing they did to me was take you, and I got you back. I don’t think it’ll be that easy for Sirius, and Remus. They can’t just forget, and . . . they aren’t the same.”

“None of us is the same.”

He scooted in closer to her, and she wrapped her arm around him, hugging him.

“We’ll be alright,” she whispered.

“You sure about that?”

“I am,” she said, kissing his forehead. “Because we’re together. All of us. We’re together, and we’ll figure it out together. We’ll make it alright.”

He kissed her.

She tugged him on top of her, and spread her legs, kissing him until he was ready again, until he was pushing into her, and making her old, gilded headboard bang against the wall of the attic.

“I hope we didn’t wake your auntie,” he said, tugging her into his side after.

She smiled.

She knew that she ought to get up to fetch James’s wand, and dismiss the lights, but she didn’t want to leave bed, to leave the circle of his arms. It didn’t really matter. They slept with lights twinkling above them.

\---

She took James, Sirius, and Remus to the office of _Telegraph_ with her. Remus’s mother was a Muggle, and he’d be able to help her navigate her request, and, truthfully, she didn’t like going anywhere without the boys now. It turned out it wasn’t that complicated to put an ad in the classifieds.

“Tuney said she’d be sure to go somewhere she’d have access to the paper,” Lily said.

It was more expensive than Lily had hoped for, but that was fine; James had access to his money in Gringotts again, and the ability to exchange it easily for acceptable Muggle currency.

“What do you want it to say?” asked the woman at the desk.

“ _Once upon a time, there were four little rabbits_ ,” Lily said, “ _and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cottontail, and Harry._ ”

They paid to have it run for a month.

After they left the paper’s office, Lily took them to Regulus’s flat.

She started to search the building, and the alleyway by it, clicking her tongue, and Sirius was about to transform in order to sniff him out, but he didn’t actually have to.

Rhubarb appeared.

“I’m back,” Lily said, and he yowled at her, butting his head against her leg, and letting her scoop him into her arms.

\---

Lily saw Emmeline in the yard, and flew out of the cottage. “Emmy!” she exclaimed. She threw her arms around her friend. Emmeline laughed, returning Lily’s embrace. “I was worried about you," Lily whispered, squeezing her eyes shut, and clinging to Emmeline.

“I was worried about _you_ ,” Emmeline said.

She looked as beaten as the rest of them. Her hair had always been long, falling all the way down her back. Now it was cut at her ears. She was thin, hollow-cheeked, and exhausted; judging by how sunken her eyes were, and the purple smudges beneath them, she hadn’t slept at all. She’d gotten released from Azkaban at the same time with Lily’s auntie, and had been staying with mother since. It had been nearly a month, but a month hadn’t been enough time for her.

Lily told Emmeline a short, honest version of how Voldemort had died.

Emmeline told her how she’d been attacked, and Malfoy had put her under the Imperius Curse. Next thing she knew, she’d woke up in Azkaban. “Now I’m reading in the _Prophet_ that he’s claiming _he_ was under the Imperius Curse,” she said, bitter. “We should just execute the lot of them.” Her hand was shaking, and it made her teacup clatter against the saucer.

“I’ve heard that people are calling for that.”

“You don’t agree?”

“There are people who don’t know better, and think _Sirius_ ought to be put on trial.”

Emmeline said nothing.

“It’ll be alright,” Lily said softly.

“I . . . I’m not so sure about that, Lily.” Emmeline looked at her, shaking her head. “After everything, I . . ." Her eyes were glassy with tears. “I don’t think I’m going to be alright. Azkaban . . .”

Lily reached for her hand.

“I think I need to leave England for a while,” she went on. “I was so happy when I found out you were alive. And I don’t want to leave you, but—you’ve got James, and your auntie, right?” She sniffed. “Would you hate me if I left? Just for a little while. My uncle lives in Australia, and my aunt said I’m welcome, and my mum would come, too, and . . .”

“Go,” Lily said. “I won’t hate you. I could _never_ hate you.”

“We can write,” Emmeline said.

Lily smiled. “Definitely.”

Emmeline hugged her tightly before she left. “I’ll be back, I promise. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“You’ll let me know when you’ve got Harry back safely?”

“I will.”

She talked to her auntie that evening.

She’d shooed the boys out, and they’d picked up on the fact that she wanted to be alone with her auntie. “Azkaban,” she said, and her auntie paused slightly in the middle of writing a letter to someone. She looked up. “What you have been there if it weren’t for me?”

Auntie sighed. “No.”

“James told me . . . that it was bad for you, and Emmeline—”

“It is bad for everyone,” Auntie said.

“I’m sorry.”

“It is true that if it were not for my relationship to you, I likely would have been expected to stay at Hogwarts under Voldemort’s _leadership_ , and teach the students he allowed to come to the school. That was the case with Pomona, and the others. But I want to be very clear with you, my dear. If it were not for my relationship with you, I would not have gone to Azkaban. But if it were not for my relationship with you, my life would be much, much less than it is. I would go back to Azkaban for the rest of my life before I would give up your childhood, before I would give up a _single_ day of raising you.”

Lily pressed her lips together, tearing up. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Auntie said, holding Lily's gaze with her own bright, wet eyes. “More than I will ever be able to put into words."

She went up to the attic.

The boys were smoking from pipes, but she decided to let it go this time.

She closed the door. “I’ve got to tell you all about something, and I need you to promise me that you’ll never tell anyone.” She went to sit on the floor with them.

"Of course," James said.

“I wasn’t just hiding with Regulus, and plotting little ways to fight back,” she started, “and I wasn’t in the Room of Requirement in search of some old potion. Regulus has discovered that Voldemort had Horcruxes, and we were trying to find them, and destroy them.”

Remus frowned. “What's a Horcrux?”

“It’s a piece of your soul that you’ve split off from yourself in an effort to be immortal.”

“Shit,” Sirius breathed.

“That’s how I got burned. Regulus had found two of them, and I went to Romania, and got dragon’s fire to destroy them. They fought back, though. It was like the part of Voldemort’s soul that was in them tried to manipulate us, use our insecurities against us.”

“But you were able to do it,” Remus said.

She nodded.

“There was another in Hogwarts?” James guessed. “In the Room of Requirement?”

“Yes. Regulus thought he wanted to make a total of seven, but we didn’t know how many he’d actually made yet. I guess the answer was three, because the last thing I did before he used the Killing Curse on me in the Room of Requirement was destroy the third one. Regulus said that we wouldn't be able to kill him until we'd destroyed all of the Horcruxes, and he was right about everything else, so.”

It was quiet.

“Regulus didn’t just save my life,” Lily said, looking at Sirius. “ _He_ ’s the one who saved the world. He’s the one who figured it all out, and made Voldemort mortal again.”

“I . . . I didn't think he’d ever—" Sirius shook his head, and let out a breath. "I'd give up hoping I'd get him back.”

“He loved you a lot,” Lily said. “He wanted so badly to do what you would have done.”

“Tell me about him?”

She blinked.

“The last time I talked to him, he was a Death Eater, and he didn’t want a thing to do with me.”

“I don’t think there was ever a time in his life when he didn’t want a thing to do with you. He thought—the way he talked about you, Sirius. He adored you. And, you know, he asked me that, too. He said it just like that. _Tell me about him_. He wanted to know about you, about the part of you that I knew. I told him you were afraid of pickles.” She grinned. “I made him a cake on his birthday, and it was _awful_ , but he ate the whole thing. He took good care of Kreacher. I liked that about him. And he had this way of . . . of saying what I needed to hear. He was smart, and he was good, and I told him you’d be proud of him.”

“Yeah.” Sirius cleared his throat. “Good.”

She leaned her head on James’s shoulder, and he kissed the crown of her head.

She was going to miss Emmeline.

But she hadn't really lost her, and until Emmline was ready to be in England, Lily would have her auntie, and her boys, and she’d meant what she’d told James before. They’d get through this, because they were together. Even if it took a while, they’d find a way to pick up the pieces, and make things right.

\---

It didn’t take long for the _Prophet_ to learn that Lily was alive, and with her family, and it made front-page news.

They didn’t get the whole story, though, until Snape was put on trial, and Lily kept her word. It was the day after Christmas. Lily put on old, slightly ill-fitted gray robes that she’d found in her bureau, and she made James come with her, and she stood up to speak for Severus. She explained how he’d gotten her out of the Room of Requirement after Voldemort had used the Killing Curse on her, and it had reverberated, killing him, and knocking her out. “If he hadn’t gotten me to safety, a Death Eater would have found me, and killed me,” she said. “I owe him my life.” She sat, and the room seemed to explode with voices.

Snape was sentenced to spend a year in Azkaban.

Malfoy went on trial after him. Lily didn’t stay for his trial, wanting to escape the stares as soon as possible. But in the next day’s _Prophet_ , an article about Malfoy was hidden under the article about Lily. Malfoy had been cleared of all charges, and so had his wife.

She thought of Emmeline.

“They’ve got a son who is Harry’s age,” James said. “They’ll be at Hogwarts together.”

“Draco,” Lily said. She held up the paper. “They used him to get off.”

He kissed the scar on her forehead. It was a thin, raw line now, almost completely healed, and he’d taken to kissing it constantly. Sirius said it looked like a bolt of lightning. Strangely, it did, and Lily didn’t know what to think of that. “I think it might be better if you stopped reading the _Prophet_ for a while,” James said, and she agreed. It only made her angry.

\---

Lily was pruning the garden when she heard an engine. She moved to her knees, shading her eyes with her hand, and looking to the road in time to see a car turn into view.

Who would come to Auntie’s cottage in a _car_?

It pulled up to the front of the house, and Lily stood. Someone got out, and she couldn’t see the woman quite properly from this side of the door, but she watched her open the door to the back, and Lily knew. It _had_ to be. She broke into a run. “Tuney!” she shouted.

Petunia straightened.

Lily reached the car, and was around it, and “ _Harry_!”

“Mama!”

She burst into tears, dropping to her knees in time to catch him in her arms. He was so _big_. She clutched him. “My baby,” she gasped. “I missed you.” She pressed a kiss to his hair. It had grown much thicker. She turned her head, and kissed his cheek, squeezing him. She’d never let him go. “I missed you so much,” she said. “I missed you every day.”

“I brought you a— _pre_ sent,” he said. He was talking! He was so big, and _talking_.

“Did you?”

“I made myself!” He wiggled in her arms, and she saw that he had it fisted in his hand.

“It’s a necklace!” she said, bright.

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s a neck-a-lace. I made with—with—with _noodles_!”

“Noodles? How did you know I wanted a noodle necklace?! I love it!” She beamed, and he beamed right back, and she leaned in, kissing his cheek again, and again, making Harry giggle. She put the necklace on, and hugged him, glancing up to see Tuney’s smile.

“Petunia?” James said, coming out of the house. His voice was breathless with disbelief, with hope.

“Here!” Lily yelled. “We’re here! Shout for Daddy, Harry!”

“Daddy!” Harry shouted, and he squirmed from Lily’s grasp, laughing madly when he got to James, and James scooped him up, lifting him in the air like he was flying.

Lily rose to her feet, and reached for Petunia.

“It’s over?” Petunia asked.

Lily hugged her, breathing in Petunia’s perfume. “It’s over,” she promised, and she was finally, completely certain. She had her baby back, had her sister back, had her _family_ back. She looked at Petunia. “Auntie’s alright,” she said. “Everybody’s alright. It’s over.”

“I talked about you with him every day,” Petunia said. “We looked at pictures of you.”

Lily smiled.

“We even kept a journal of all the things we did each day so we could remember them to tell you later.”

“Again!” Harry exclaimed. “Again, Daddy! Again! I’m ready!”

James spun, and Harry stuck his arms out, copying the loud, whooshing noises that James was making. Lily watched. “You’re flying, Harry!” she told him. “You’re _flying_!” He laughed, and Lily clapped a hand to her mouth, crying so much that Petunia wrapped an arm around her again.

\---

It turned out that her auntie’s family owned a house in Scotland that had been empty for decades, boarded up, and forgotten about.

Lily was up for the task of restoring it.

It wasn’t as large as the manor that James had grown up in, but it was fairly close. It had eleven bedrooms, nine bathrooms, and sat on a beautiful, sprawling estate with three small ponds, and a lake in the back. They needed something large; their family wasn’t going to split up again.

They spent the summer putting everything right.

They restored the fixtures, and stripped the carpets. They replaced the wood that was rooting. They decorated. They bought new furniture, and brought old furniture from James’s house. Lily got the yard in check, and put up hanging flower baskets, and Harry helped her paint the pots for the plants she’d keep in the house. They made it a home.

Auntie put a number of charms on the estate, hiding it from uninvited guests.

Things were still hard.

James had nightmares, and she’d have to wake him when he was thrashing with a scream in his throat. If she didn’t wake him, he’d wake himself, and grab her, rolling her over, wanting to look into her face. She understood. Even after months of freedom, Azkaban remained with him, and Voldemort, and the memory of her dead, mangled body.

Harry didn’t like Lily to leave any room without him; he was scared she’d never come back.

Remus tried to leave the day before the first full moon.

“Don’t be absurd,” Lily said.

“I could hurt Harry!”

“Harry will be safely tucked into bed,” she said, “and you won’t get anywhere near him, because the boys are going to be playing with you just like always. Where would you even go, Remy? Honestly, you can’t have seriously thought we’d just let you just _leave_.”

Lily came downstairs in the morning, and found them passed out.

They were muddy, and had tracked it into the house, and Sirius hadn’t transformed back yet, lying with his head in James’s lap. Remus had a scratch on his cheek, but he was sleeping, and safe. She kissed the top of James’s head, and found her sister in the kitchen, cooking.

“If you keep making breakfast every morning, I’m never going to let you leave,” Lily said.

“Enjoy it now,” Petunia replied. “I’m off to France as soon as things are settled.”

She kept on saying that, though, month after month, but she was attached to Harry, and had yet to leave.

Harry was attached to her, too.

He called her auntie.

Petunia remained so different from Lily; she was always impeccably dressed with her hair kept short, curled, and perfect, loved to gossip about what she thought the neighbors were up to, and enjoyed disliking people, disapproving of everything. But Lily was old enough now to recognize how difficult it must have been for Petunia not to have magic while they were growing up, how Petunia had found a way to make herself feel important without it, and that involved expensive tastes, and snooty opinions, that involved a fancy, foreign education, and a certainty in her superiority when it came to class and style and _life_. Lily loved her sister, and owed her a debt, and she would forgive Petunia the things she didn't understand about her.

Over the summer, the boys built a kind of cottage at the back of the estate. They called it a shed, but it was as large as a house. It was a place for Remus to transform, a place for them to tear up once a month.

Things were still hard, but they were getting better.

Slowly, they were rebuilding their lives, and, piece by piece, starting over.

Lily burst into the loo, because it was an _emergency_ , and was sitting on the toilet before she realized that the door of the loo had been shut because Sirius was sitting in the tub.

She opened her mouth to apologize, only to pause. He was hunched over with his hands around his knees, and his head hanging down. His back was riddled with scars from Bellatrix; she’d seen them before, but in that moment they seemed particularly awful, and spoke of scars that she’d never see.

“Paddy?”

“Not right now.” His voice was low, and leaved no room for argument.

She pulled up her pants, but she didn’t just leave.

She climbed into the tub.

“Evans.”

It was freezing, and she snatched up her wand, heating the water, and sighing with relief, leaning into Sirius, and pressing her belly against his side. The baby kicked visibly, and he had to have felt it. She rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his back.

“You don’t know the things I’ve done,” he murmured.

She hesitated. “I know that when you were a boy, you took beatings for your little brother,” she said softly. “I know that you carried me to safety when I was hurt, and you kept me safe. I know that you fought against Voldemort when it would have been so much easier just to join him.” She thought of Peter. They never talked about him, because there was nothing to say. Lily didn't know what Regulus had done to him, and she couldn't find it in her to care. "I know that Voldemort would have welcomed you with open arms, but you never,ever betrayed us."

The baby kicked him again.

“I know that every time you were given a choice, you chose to do what was right.”

“I tried to _strangle_ you,” he said, and he was tense under her touch, holding himself tightly. “I remember it, Lily. You _ran_ to me, and I strangled you.”

“It wasn’t _you._ ”

“And I did worse to other people. There was this girl, and I—” He cut himself off.

“Tell me.”

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do, because you need to give it away. It wasn’t you. I looked you in the eyes, and I saw it _wasn’t you_.”

He was silent.

“There’s nothing you could tell me that would make me believe less of you.”

“I murdered innocent people.”

“I love you.”

From the window, a high, boyish shout drifted in. James was playing with Harry in the backyard, and Remus, too. There was the roar of James’s laughter, and Remus yelled.

“I have something to tell you,” Lily whispered.

“What?”

“Don’t be mad.”

He turned to look at her. “What?”

“I might have peed a little.”

He frowned.

“In the tub,” she said. “Just now. We’re kind of sitting in my pee right now. I couldn’t stop it!”

He started to shake his head, huffing a laugh.

“It just came out!” she exclaimed.

He shifted, and put an arm around her, tugging her into half a hug.

He’d be alright.

It would just take time.

September came, and Auntie returned to Hogwarts to teach. Petunia started a wedding planning business, which gave her a reason to dress up, and an excuse to boss people around. James bought an old, rundown shop front in the small Muggle town closest to the estate, and declared his intention to turn it into a pub. The boys were able to fix it up nicely, although they argued over a name for weeks. Lily laughed until she cried when it was announced that they were calling it “the pub.”

\---

The baby was born on Halloween, and labor was much easier this time. Lily went to the smaller Wizarding hospital in Scotland when she started having contractions in the morning, and her son was born in the afternoon. He was larger than Harry, but he looked just like him otherwise, was dark-haired, and sweet-faced.

“What are we going to name him?” Harry asked, kneeling on the bed, and peering at the baby.

“Regulus,” Lily said.

“What?” Sirius straightened, and glanced at James.

“Regulus McGonagall Potter,” James said, grinning. “Named after two of the bravest people we’ve ever met.”

Harry scooted closer. “Can I touch him?”

“Gently,” Lily said.

James was at Harry’s back, and he steadied the toddler when Lily placed Regulus half in Harry’s arms, and half in James’s. Regulus blinked, smacked his lips. He had bright eyes, and they were gray now, but Lily hoped they turned out to be the green brown hazel of James’s eyes.

“Hi, Regulus,” Harry said. “I’m Harry. I’m three, and I’m your brother."

"That's right," James said.

“I like Quidditch, and Rhubarb, and peppermint sticks, and I love you lots, because I’m your brother.” Harry leaned in, and kissed Regulus’s forehead.

Lily breathed in sharply, tearing up.

Sirius was crying, too.

“Is this the moment?” Remus asked, smiling.

“This is the moment,” James said.

Remus lifted James’s camera, and Lily laughed tearfully. She sat up, touching Harry’s shoulder, and Harry looked up from Regulus, and grinned a toothy toddler grin that matched James’s exactly. Remus snapped the photo, and it was the perfect moment in time.

\---

It was Remus’s idea to go to 12 Grimmauld Place, and clear it out. Sirius would’ve been happy to let the place rot; in fact, his response at first had been “let the place rot.” But Lily thought it would be good for him to get some old photos of Regulus, to get some old memories, and have that closure.

Kreacher was there.

“What are you doing?” he asked, scowling. “Filthy little beasts, invading master’s bedroom! You—”

“Bugger off, Kreacher,” Sirius snapped.

Kreacher was silent, and Lily realized that Sirius was Kreacher’s master now, although it seemed that neither of them was thrilled at the fact. From where he was cocooned on her chest, Regulus fussed. “Shh, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Shh.” Kreacher grumbled to himself, and disappeared.

Lily went downstairs to nurse, and was nearly finished when Kreacher crept in again.

“Mama loves you, Regulus,” she said softly.

“Regulus?” repeated Kreacher.

She looked at up in surprise to see the House Elf had come into the kitchen. “My baby,” she told him.

“His name is Regulus?”

“Yes,” she said. Kreacher's eyes had widened, and, for the very first time, he didn't look hostile. He'd loved Regulus. Lily bit her lip. "He’s named after a man who was my friend," she added, "and who saved my life.”

“Evans, we’re taking my mother’s wedding china.” Sirius came down the stairs. “We figured Harry could use it to practice swinging his new beater’s bat from Emmy.”

Kreacher glowered.

“Fine,” Lily said. “I’m going to take Regulus back to the house to nap.”

“I can take him,” Kreacher said.

Lily blinked.

“What?” Sirius said.

“Give the child to me,” Kreacher said, and he reached out. “I can look after him while you work.”

Sirius sneered. “If you think I’d let you touch that baby, you—”

“That’s very kind of you, Kreacher,” Lily said. “Can you burp him for me, too?”

Kreacher took Regulus into his arms carefully; he wasn’t that much bigger than the baby, but he seemed to know what he was doing, and he burped Regulus. House Elves were probably often expected to look after children, weren't they? James's family's House Elf had died when they were children, but Lily remembered her, and remembered how she'd doted on James, and complained when she couldn't dote on him properly because Mrs. Potter was doting on him instead.

Lily smiled.

She glanced at Sirius, who was watching the pair with dark, uncertain eyes. Sirius was doing much better, was starting to reclaim his life for himself. He’d begun to cover himself with tattoos, replacing the scars with marks that he’d chosen for himself, and taking back ownership of his body. He had a stag on one arm, and a wolf on another. The words _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_ were written in cursive under his ribs, circling his side. On the fingers of his hand, he’d tattooed the letters of Lily’s name, and Harry’s footprints were climbing his calf. The symbol of the Deathly Hallows was on corner of his chest. And the stars of a constellation were on his shoulder, spilling onto his back, and the largest of the stars was Arcturus. Lily knew it was hard for him to be back in this house, to be around Kreacher. Regulus had loved Kreacher, though.

“If there are times when I need help with Regulus, could you come by our house?” Lily asked.

“You’d have to ask my master’s permission,” Kreacher said, glaring at Sirius.

“You’ll do whatever Lily tells you to,” Sirius said, sharp.

Kreacher sniffed, and looked ready to retort. But when Regulus fussed, he turned away from Sirius instead, and began to hum a lullaby. Sirius’s eyes widened. Lily rose to her feet, and gave Sirius a kiss. _You’d be proud of them both, Reg_ , she thought.

\---

The night before Harry went to Hogwarts, they had a dinner. Sirius, Remus, and James cooked up all of Harry’s favorite foods, and they had people over, inviting the Longbottoms, and Lily’s auntie, of course, and Andromeda, Ted, and their daughter. It turned into a party.

Lily still couldn’t quite believe that Harry was going to Hogwarts.

James was excited. “Now you’ll leave him alone, won’t you?” he kept asking her. “He’s got to be able to make friends, and get into trouble!” She’d rolled her eyes at him, and assured him repeatedly that, yes, James, she’d allow their son to stir up plenty of trouble with his friends. Lily had accepted Slughorn’s position at Hogwarts when he’d retired, but she did what her auntie had done when she’d been growing up: she arrived after breakfast for classes in the morning, and left as soon as the last of her classes in the afternoon was finished. She liked teaching, but Hogwarts wasn’t her home now.

Tomorrow, though, it was going to become Harry’s home.

Her baby was _eleven_.

“I’m going to miss Neville something awful,” Alice said, sitting on the porch with Lily. She’d survived the war, had faked her own death, and her son’s. But Frank had been killed, and Neville had been Alice’s world since; she was going to be lonely without him.

“He’ll write,” Lily said. “And before you know it, it’ll be Christmas, and he’ll be home.”

“I’ll be counting down the days,” Alice said.

“I think we might need to get you a boyfriend, Alice,” Andromeda said.

Alice choked.

“Or a couple of cats if you’d prefer.”

Lily grinned, and rubbed the spot where the baby was kicking. She was pregnant with her fourth, and she wasn’t due until the end of November, but the baby was already so active.

“Cheater!” James yelled.

In the yard, Ted had given up trying to fly his toy broomstick, and was running for the goal with the Quaffle under his arm, and the broomstick stuck between his legs.

“Potters, attack!” James waved his hands about in some ridiculous, complicated gesture that apparently made perfect sense to their sons, because Harry leaned forward on his little toy broomstick, and zoomed right towards Ted with Regulus on his heels. Harry insisted that he was big enough to fly a real broomstick, but they had him use a toy as long as Regulus had to use one, too. Right now, it didn't seem to be bothering him. “Take him DOWN!” James shouted. “Wait, that’s the Snitch! Harry, I see the Snitch! REVERSE!”

From where he was stationed in front of the goals, Remus looked unsure whether this meant he had to put down his plate of pie.

Tonks had fallen off her broom, and was lying on the ground, crying from laughter.

Neville was sitting on the ground cross-legged beside his broomstick, plucking up glass, and using it to tickle Rhubarb.

“Who wants the last slice of pie?” Andromeda called. “First come, first serve!”

Regulus flew right over, stumbling off his broom.

“You’ve got to give me a kiss first,” Andromeda said, tapping two fingers to her cheek. Regulus leaned in easily, smacking a kiss to her cheek, and Andromeda smiled. “Here you go, my sweet.”

Regulus beamed.

“Reg, are your shoelaces tied together?” Alice asked.

“What?” He blinked. “Oh. Yeah!” He sat on the arm of Lily’s chair, half on top of her. “Dad said he bet I couldn’t go all day with them tied up. He bet me five galleons!”

Lily shook her head, and stole a pinch of his pie.

“What did we miss?” Sirius asked, coming out from the house with Violet.

“My husband is teaching our children to bully their opponents."

He nodded. “Obviously.”

She glanced at him, and raised her eyebrows in amusement. Violet was sitting on his hip, and had her thumb in her mouth, and her other chubby hand twisted in Sirius’s hair; Petunia must’ve fixed her hair in the time the toddler had been in the house to have her nappy changed, because a cute purple bow was nestled in her dark little curls. That wasn’t what caught Lily’s attention, though. Sirius had found a fancy new hat to wear.

“Did you know you owned this beauty?” he asked, tilting his head, and displaying the bird.

“His name is Tom.”

“How come I’ve never seen _Tom_ before?”

“You can have him if you like,” Auntie said, topping off her cup of tea. She pursed her lips, and eyed him. “It suits you. Brings out the color in your eyes.”

Sirius winked.

Violet squirmed. “Play Quitch,” she told him. She kicked his stomach.

He grunted, and set her on her feet.

She took off.

Lily cupped her hand to her mouth. “Incoming!” she shouted.

James flew out from the field, looking absolutely ridiculous on a little toy broomstick, and scooped up Violet easily. He paused to blow Lily a kiss, and Violet copied him, and blew her one, too. Lily caught both of their kisses, pressing them to her cheeks.

**Fin.**

\---

 _If I had a tale that I could tell you,_  
_I'd tell a tale sure to make you smile._  
_If I had a wish that I could wish for you,_  
_I'd make a wish for sunshine all the while._


End file.
